*brick is mine dance*

I've paid off the Volvo. Mine, mine, mineminemineminemine.

misc

The injured soldier may or may not walk again. He's chock full o'shrapnel. He got to keep all his fingers, but he can't quite make a fist. Don't know if that's permanent. He's up on crutches, which is encouraging.

***

My latest dual luciferase assay results look like ass, but at least they're consistent. My boss says I must have botched the transfection, but I'm pretty sure I did it right. Like we ever get consistent results in here anyway.

***

The injured soldier's mom said "It's the people. Over there, it's the people that are doing these things. They don't value life the way we do." I swear to God, that's exactly what she said. I decided to leave it alone. She was already tearing up, so I figured it would be wrong to punch her in the head.

***

Don't get me wrong -- it's not that I want to be an anaesthesiologist. I'd just like to have a better handle on what I should be. For all I know, her hatred for Medicine could dwarf my career angst.

Damn. Y'know, I remembered something else. Her apartment complex had a basement garage. Urgh.