Today was a little rough to say the least. It started at about 4:30 am as my roommate woke me for an airport ride. No problem, I am happy to help out friends, but I was extremely groggy, even for 4:30. My instant coffee tasted especially bitter, and I could not tell if the objectionable taste was from expired coffee or my woozy state. After a bit of tea and a short drive to the airport, I returned home to sleep another few hours to prepare for a full day of calculus and bioengineering research. This was a poor strategy. It still felt like I had only slept 5 hours despite catching a few winks before class....when the lecture hit, I was behind and not following along, for the TA is very fast and good. The mental punishment would not stop, and it came time for the opening quiz of the semester. I did not do that well and will have to continue to study hard just to pass ( despite the fact that the name of this blog is a play on the commonly used math term "take the limit as this or that goes to zero",taking closed book calculus tests is not my strong suit.) After class it was off to work, where I was hoping to be efficient enough to get all my work done by the weekend. Ya right. My boss informed me shortly thereafter that I would be working sunday night (July 4th). My day is not going well.... "Thats OK", I thought trying to think positively, "I have gone on lots of road trips to climbing destinations already this summer...every weekend....I can miss out this weekend." "I will get more calculus done."
I shake of the damage and return to my windowless lab full of shakers and hoods. Through the the rhythmic drone of glass beakers clinking metal in the shakers, I hear some rumpled thumping noises....
"what is that?" asks another researcher.
"HAIL!" I scream out.
Sure enough, baseball sized hail was pelting the Montana State University campus with unrelenting fury. Windows were broken out of many of the buildings. Someone was seen running down a stairwell with a blood stained shirt. I then realized that my room at home contains west facing windows, vulnerable to the stormy onslaught. I reluctantly pedaled my bike home between thunderclouds to inspect the damage. The streets were filled with storm debris. When I got home the giant hailstones in the yard told me what I already knew. Shattered glass covered my bedroom, which was soaking wet...John Lennon's lyrics played in my head...."Nobody told me there'd be days like these, nobody told me there'd be days like these. Strange days indeed."
