Thermoelectric and Heat Flow Phenomena in Mesoscopic Systems...DONE.

Super duper crazy happy news!

JASON FINISHED WRITING HIS DISSERTATION. His thesis. His PhD paper. His ultimate Physics final.

Five years of post-grad schooling; countless nights stuck in his windowless laboratory; 215 pages of cold, hard physics.

So maybe this is a bit of preemptive celebration, because there are a few more hoops he has to jump through before he gets to call himself "Dr. Matthews." He has to have a Board of Really Smart People with Foreign Accents and Beards read it over this week, and then he has his "Doctoral Defense" next Thursday. Whoo!

Although he's been working his tail off on writing it all summer, these past two weeks were especially insaneinthemembrane. At first, he was averaging about 5 hours of sleep per night.

At that point he was completely nocturnal. He'd go lay down on the couch in the afternoon, and turn to me with pleading, bloodshot eyes. He'd beg, "April, no matter what I say, I want you to wake me up in THREE HOURS. No 'fifteen more minutes.' Do whatever you have to do... even ice-water. Get me up."

Sorry, buddy, there's no way I could throw ice-water on that.

I'd dutifully wake him up, and he'd open one sleepy eye with a look of desperate anguish. Then he'd lay down the Kryptonite in a cute, sleepy voice:

"Cuddle?"
"Sweetheart, you're supposed to get---"
"Just five minutes?"
"But--"
"I miss sleeping next to you."

aaaaaaand BAM I was in his arms, and he was instantly making happy little snoring sounds.

Oh, MERCY, our future offspring will get away with anything if they inherit those puppy eyes.

Soon, the five-hour sleep average turned into just two hours a night. I'd try to wake him up, and he'd sleep talk something about "anisotropic thermoelectrics in four-terminal ballistic junctions."

The last three days (or should I say day-nights), he really got in a crunch and enlisted me to proofread every. last. page. So I got to dig through THIS for missed apostrophe's and little typos.

(Bahaha I just had to torment all you grammar OCD-ers out there-- apostrophes!!^^ I feel like I need to go wash my hands or something now.)

Anyway, I got to dig through every last page--twice--for little things like this:

I wish you could've seen the look on his poor, sleep-deprived face while he tried to figure out why I was "writing in Russian."

For now, he sleeps all he wants. I no longer have to stress about my failings as a sleep Nazi. Then once he's caught up, it's Power-Point time! Go Jason, Go!


Want to read more about his research? I tried to sum it up in English-for-humans here.

Your Questions!: Most Embarrassing Moment, and what I'll never blog about

This picture has nothing to do with the rest of the post-- BUT-- I am promising you right here and right now, I will never again attempt anything as trendy as bacon cupcakes with maple frosting. Ever.

Meet the "Sam" (right)  behind all the epically long & hilarious comments often found here! Love that kid.

(This was for a "bacon party" for our GYM. So legit.) On a sliiightly related note-- now that I'm sick of cupcakes, I'm trying that Paleo diet again. I'm on day three... and every time I wake up in the middle of the night, I get nervous. Eep. On the plus side, you guys might get more barfing stories...?


Moving on-- next two questions, again from Ryan!

What is your most embarrassing moment?
What's one thing you will NEVER talk about on your blog? And why? 

Ironically, I will NEVER talk about my most embarrassing moment on zee blog. It involves a weekend stay at the Hubster's family cabin, a midnight oversized poo, and the horrific steps taken to get rid of said poo. I've already said too much. If you guys really want to hear about it, email me and I might just tell you. But you'll probably regret it a lot a lot a lot.

Seeing as I'm in a chatty mood, and seeing as I prettttty much just blogged about what I said I wouldn't blog about, I'll list a second blogger-verboten topic.

While I try to keep it real on here, and avoid only talking about happy-go-lucky-things that make my life sound flawless, I will never vent about any specific person on my blog. It doesn't seem like it would accomplish anything other than spreading negativity. I learned from my parents to "focus on finding solutions, rather than dwelling on problems."

I do realize that if I did vent, I might get some helpful feedback or advice from the comments (not to mention higher traffic than normal), I'd rather just ask a few carefully chosen confidantes for advice than spread my drama all over the interwebs. And yes, there are several of you who will probably fall into the "confidante category" sooner or later : )

________________
Your turn, amigos! Embarrassing moments? Forbidden blog topics? I'm curious!

Your Questions!: An innocent inquiry about deserted islands

I never should have given myself that little taste of freedom... that "one-week" break turned into "four-weeks-of-being-in-complete-denial-about-the-existence-of-blogger.com."

Anyway, looks like I've got some questions to answer! Bless you darling amigos who still have things you want to know about me after all the awkward things I've already divulged here.

If you were on a deserted island, what one item or person would you bring with you? (No Hubster, sorry.)
-Ryan @ Woven Moments

Can I say a fully-stocked cruise ship with instruction manuals? Or Hurley?

Or, I could NOT cheat and pick someone/something already in my life:
On those rare occasions when Husband can't fix my mood, he tells me to call my sister. Wise man, that Husband character.

Choosing to bring my sister to my accidental private island certainly has its flaws. The little sister & I tend to feed off of each others' insanity, like when we recently had to drive the EXACT &^%$#! SAME 180-mile stretch FOUR times in SIX days. Without a radio. By the end we were singing duets entirely with growls and chirping noises, and:

Even better zoomed in.

Yes, I was trying to "claw" my way out of the car at 70 mph.

And she was in the passenger's seat, covering the right half of the windshield with toe streaks and likening it to tending a Zen garden. (See bottom right corner of photo... the perfect epitome of Zen, yes? It just... screams it.)

It gets better. She took my car to fill it up with gas a few days afterwards, and the kindly attendant decided to clean the windshields for her. After squeegee-ing the glass like a pro, he flipped the blade over and started dutifully scrubbing the "claw" marks.

He scrubbed harder.

He leaned in to inspect more closely, and got a look of horrified confusion on his face once he realized they were on the inside of the car. He quizzically looked at my sister, handed her the receipt, and scurried off.

So, having made a short story long, I'd bring my sister to share in my maroon-ed-ness. We'd go bonkers, but sometimes it's what you have to do to survive.