Are you a grown up? I am not.

Today, Prof Michael Kimmel gave a talk about his new book 'guyland'. During the introduction, he said that there are five milestones that mark the entrance into the adult world:

1. Move out of parents house (CHECK!)
2. Finish school (hmmm maybe in 2011?)
3. Get a job (!!!)
4. Ger married (yah, good luck with that)
5. Have a kid (does my thesis count?)

So, I guess this means that while I look 28 on the outside, I am actually about 6 on the inside.

Draft-head

No one said doing a PhD was easy... and no one said writing was easy either. I knew this, but I threw caution to the wind and followed my dream of doing a PhD (which is inexorably tied to writing a thesis). I did fieldwork, I analyzed data and summed-up my findings. This semester, it was time for me to write paper number one.

I won't lie and say that it's been easy, but it's not a process I hate. These last few weeks have all been about working a puzzle: finding the corner pieces, doing the edges, putting different sections together hoping that everything will fit in the end. The difference between papers and puzzles is that the puzzle you know if you're doing it wrong. The paper, you need your advisers to tell you! -or help you along the way.

Last week was all about putting the sections together. I had written out most of the manuscript in different pre-papers and as I pieced them together, I had to make my discussion of my findings. I finished on Friday evening with a headache and a sense of accomplishment. I can't wait to know what my advisers think, what changes I still have to make and how much longer until I have a 'final draft'.

The problem now is that I can't find the headspace to work. I guess I overdid it last week and have a terrible case of draft-head. I've been thinking about how to explain what that is all weekend long, and I finally came up with the definition: tt's like having a hangover, but without the wine.

Wool is not cotton

And yet I made the awful mistake of mixing the two up. How did I do that? Well, it was in Swedish and now my pretty green sweater that I got for my birthday last year shrunk. My brown sweater that Marielos gave me shrunk. My friend Mariella helped me stretch them out... I'll see what happens tomorrow when they dry

And I cut my finger so it hurts.

Just like a fairytale

Summer is over and I'm back to my old non-job as a PhD student. After long travels, no sleeping pills and delayed flights, I finally got to my little town of Umea. The first thing I did? I went on Facebook. My friend had this as her status:

"Being a graduate student is like becoming all of the Seven Dwarfs. In the beginning you're Dopey and Bashful. In the middle, you are usually sick (Sneezy), tired (Sleepy), and irritable (Grumpy). But at the end, they call you Doc, and then you're Happy."

Doesn't that just capture the pure essence and joy of doing your PhD thesis? I would have to say yes! :D

On the bandwagon

Did you hear? Michael Jackson died!

Well, of course you've heard. Everybody has. And everybody's posting something about the late, great, king of pop. I have to say, even though I'm not necessarily a fan, even though I hadn't thought about MJ in years, now that he's gone the world feels different.

I don't know why. Somewhere along the lines of his extravagance, weirdness and theatrics, I lost sight of so many great songs. So I decided to join the bandwagon and post a video. This song reminds me of my dad singing with my brothers and I. We were never any good, but there is something about singing in the living room with your dad when you're a kid that you never forget.

So where there is love...

Up-staged

I think it is completely unfair to poor Farrah Fawcett. The poor thing spent three years setting the stage for the grand finale, and then on the afternoon on the day she finally dies... Michael Jackson goes and has a cardiac arrest.

With one clean swoop he ate up all the celebrity gossip online time, all the newscasts, all the printed press room and poor Farrah only got some one-liners.

So now the king of pop is dead, leaving Madonna to be the dowager queen, and a battle between Prince and other suitors for the tittle...

Breakfast date

I really don't see as much of my best friend as I would like. It's not our fault though. She's a leader for trekking expeditions in Asia and I'm a PhD student in Sweden. If we are to have real time together, we both have to be in the same country... which makes it difficult from the get go.

In fact, when she turned 25, it had been over two years since we last saw each other (she's now 27). We decided after that big a bout that we would make an effort to hang out at least once a year -and have done it successfully these last couple of years. Now, she's training to climb Everest -as part of the seven peaks thing- and she's here to get a visa stamped on her passport. She's here for five days.

In her hectic timetable, we managed to fit in Sunday brunch. So over waffles, strawberries and black tea we caught up. We laughed, made fun of people that were not necessarily around and talked about boys, life and everything we could fit in about 90 minutes. She's coming back in October, for the whole month, but I won't be here. This means I'll be missing a visit from her and from Alejandro.

-The things one sacrifices for school.