I wonder if there is a name for the feeling of guilt one develops when living in Nordic countries when it comes to seeing some sunshine outside and deciding to stay indoors. It's a real thing. It hits you square in the face, "I should be outside, there is sunshine! Soon it will start raining again and then it's going to be dark at 5:30pm! I cannot possibly stay indoors!" That and the feeling of pure satisfaction one gets from beating the rain like I did this morning. It's a feeling of glee only five year old kids should feel and only when faced with an unlimited supply of candy/ice cream and legos. But really, one of these years I should move close to the equator and not have to deal with amazingly different day lengths.
That brings me to the point that I should start thinking what the hell I want to do after my defense because that's most likely less than six months away, five if there are no more fuck-ups. Post-doc in some random country (apparently there are some positions open in Singapore that might interest me), teaching environmental stuff/creativity/engineering design in some random university (I've always wanted to finally put that "languages" section in my CV to use), going into industry (9-5 sounds so... not my thing... not that I have a thing for late night writing and weekends worrying about stuff), forgetting about science and getting a job that would require almost no input from me (to be honest, "mindless" work sounds so appealing although I would probably tire of it after two months), other. And by "other" I probably mean trying to find the meaning of life, possibly by writing self-published books of poetry. Except that poetry is not my thing.
Man, that was a downer! Actually this is why I was considering participating in the NaNoWriMo this year and write a book called "The Dark Side of that PhD Stuff (Spoiler: There Do Not Have Cookies There)", it would exorcise, at least partially, my inner PhD demons. Except that apparently NaNoWriMo is just for fiction novels. Fucking sucks, if you ask me... although from a certain point of view, no matter what one writes, there is always a bit of fiction because no one can be truly objective.
Right... till then, have this amazing representation of life.
It's not quite as accurate of a representation as 42 but I would say it's not far.
(No, I am not functioning on 4 hours of sleep because I couldn't put down my book last night. Why do you ask?)
Source:
http://cerealjoe.livejournal.com/1423879.html