Epic Fail

I sat on the couch, putting my legs on the ottoman in front of me.  I needed to bang out a good chunk of my research paper for biochemistry, or at least get a nice rough draft going.  My schedule was jam-packed with lab work, meetings, and exams, so this was the only time I could afford to work on it.  It was eight in the morning.  I had plenty of time. My mind was sharp and focused.  I resisted the temptation to open PubMed in my Safari browser.  I already had twenty references, it was time to start writing.  Only discuss the important aspects of each study and move on, I told myself.  You can improve this later.  

I opened my first reference, Lu et al., 2011.  I had visited this paper several times already.  I knew what to write.  Images of metabolic enzymes, orange and green, pink and blue, appeared in my mind.  They began to come together in linear strings.  They twisted and crossed, forming a web before my eyes.  On my screen, my cursor was flashing in the blank Microsoft word document.  I started typing, “Mice were treated with alternate day fasting consisting of…”  Wait.  

            All the treatment diets, I knew what they were.  But I was missing a tiny little detail.  I scrolled through my lengthy pages of notes.  Ugh.  I hadn’t recorded it.  I looked at my reference, scrolling through the methods section.  I just needed to find this one particular element, and then I could write.  I skimmed over paragraphs highlighted in yellow.  I had practically highlighted the entire paper.  I searched through green and purple highlights, on top of yellow.  I shook my head, remembering how I had re-read it several times, using different highlighters to identify details that were extra important.  

            I found what I was looking for.  But… it didn’t make sense.  I squinted, re-reading.  I went to the table that summarized treatments and gene regulatory responses.  Oh, I thought, as I opened my notes document, I need to re-organize this.  Then I will have a clear and vivid image in my head.  My keyboard clicked as I started to type, then paused.  No, no, that won’t due.  I erased it all and began again.  Placing everything neatly into organized columns, I created a table.  I exhaled as I sat back in the couch, and examined my work.  Needless to say, it wasn’t satisfactory.  I had to color-code them.  I made enzymes red for increased expression, and green for reduced.  I put feeding in orange and starvation in gray, fat tissue in blue and tumors in brown.  Reluctantly, I allowed my eyes to glance at the clock.  It was 7pm and I hated myself.

Reviews

[Scott Andrews]

It very much is a homage to the art of procrastination. I'm 42 and still create charts and tables and spreadsheets about the things I am going to do and never quite get to. It is as if my brain cannot function without a deadline.

I feel the narrators pain, and the self-justification that yes, colour-coding enzymes is essential in writing a paper that you haven't started writing because you are colour coding enzymes instead.

Your story made me smile as I glimpsed a faint reflection of myself. If great writing captures a truth, you have absolutely succeeded. Well done.