At the lab, I feel better.... «Give Me Your Hand»
RamingoWS18 сентября 2018At the lab, I feel better. I always do. I label bottles. Clean my pH meter. The simplest of tasks, just to get my brain firing, to give me peace. I move as much as I can before drifting to the cell-culture room, where I will soon be hunkered down for hours at the fume hood, my back curled to a clamshell. There is something beautiful in it. Like when I was little, when my parents were still raising our roof semiregularly, and I`d sit in my room and alphabetize all my books or align my pencils by length in their case. The Beanie Babies my mom always bought me from Rite Aid, their soft necks arched. The pair of bunnies, all ears at the same height, pink nubbins pointing straight. If everything is ordered, maybe something momentous will happen. Like the relationship, however mysterious to others, between the molecular formula you`d write on the pace — C17H19ClF3NO, abstract, so much hieroglyphics — and the wild thing happening in front of your eyes, between your hands. Nothing else could promise both things, could it? To be so ordered and so out of control.
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