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I decided to write a poem.
Thoughts upon Leaving for Antarctica. October 2009.

Last, Last, Last

Last cotton-clad pillow, last sheets made of silk
Last ice cream with hot fudge, last gallon of milk.
Last phone conversation, last bathroom with doors
Last warm woolen socks on warm wooden floors.

Last fresh, tart fruit, last perfume that lingers
On the tips of fine, warm, dexterous fingers.
Last clean pair of jeans, last steam-drenched shower
Filled with four kinds of soap and lasting an hour.

I go to a land with sun never ending
Where Summer is naught but Winter pretending.
The Sun has no warmth, that pale light in the sky,
Thousands of miles, my thoughts, and I.

In icefields I bask, in solitude drown
The clouds hurry by, afraid to come down
Off we go with our armor, a thin wreathing of mirth
In pursuit of the wind-- to the Ends of the Earth!

~~Zanzi-ma-bar

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We went out to dinner last night, just the Antarctica people [Me, J, the Welshman, and Mark #3] and the Welshman's girlfriend.

The Antarctica boys have decided that "Gay Chicken" will be the official game of Field Season '09-'10.

For those of you unfamiliar with this game, it involves two straight people of the same sex who move towards each other as if for a kiss. The first person who chickens out loses.

Naturally, if neither one chickens out in time, an actual kiss might occur. [Then both parties win?]

Basically this is a good way for guys to be very gay while still being straight, one of many straight guys' favorite activities.

One of the bonuses of this game is that I'm not allowed to play.

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Hi everyone,

Does anybody have the mouse B-RAF gene on hand? I am interested in subcloning it.

Thanks!
Dorothy

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So I've less than two weeks until I leave for Antarctica. You'd think that Antarctica is the only thing that I think about, given that it's all I ever talk about, but you'd be wrong, because I only think about Antarctica about 10% of the time. Then there is about 88% of the time that I spend thinking about boys, and 2% of the time I think about all the other stuff I have to do before I leave for Antarctica. Ok, that's not entirely accurate. At this very moment, I guess I'd break things down in this way:

50% Boys
10% Antarctica
10% Boys & Antarctica
10% Math
8% Stories
2% Science
8% Everything else

I'm not counting time I spend thinking about family and friends, they get their own pie. I remember this conversation I once had with my best friend in fifth grade. We were in my garage and we were talking about boys, and we swore to each other that if one of us started liking boys that the other one would shoot her in the face. We were being kind of serious, too. I should call her out on her failure to keep up her end of the bargain. Though I dare say it would end poorly for both of us.

I've often thought about how much time and effort the members of the human race waste falling in love with each other... just imagine how much I could get done if I took that 50-60% back and applied it to science or math! Though I probably wouldn't apply it to science or math at all, at least not in some useful way, I'd probably do what I normally do when I don't like anyone which is learning how to make cement out of volcanic ash on the internet, or reading about how to make a two-way mirror in your garage, or looking through 386 pages of Twilight fan-fic paintings on DeviantArt. For those of you who clearly spend 10% or more of your time thinking about math, that's still where the missing 2% from the above list goes... yes it just disappears into the depths of the internet where there are whole websites about how to get volcanic ash off airport runways, how to make charcoal, how to make gun powder, how to make origami hats, how to play the bodhran, how many people there are in Afghanistan, how long is a second on Mars, is it "where ever" or "wherever", and where does the word "science" come from. If only I were a vampire like Edward and I didn't have to sleep; I could ostensibly spend the 33% of my time that I usually spend asleep answering these important questions.

Though to my credit, I was just lying dramatically on the couch to think about boys and staring blankly at a map of the world that was on the wall when I became completely distracted from my melodramatic thoughts trying to figure out how many time zones there were in Russia.

There is still hope for me!!

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The Welshman and I are on the street corner, having the extended conversation that always takes place on this street corner before we concede that we must part ways. The traffic lights are cycling. Once or twice a cycle, like double dutch ropes, they offer him an opportunity to leave.

"Sometimes," he says, speaking of Antarctica, "your hands are so cold that they ache, they have this horrible pain... and you can't really warm them up properly... even when you do, they aren't right after that. I definitely lost the feeling in my fingertips for a while. But my hands are especially sensitive."

He shows me his broad hands; they are flexing white as if in memory of past days.

"I don't want to lose feeling in my fingertips," is my rejoinder, but he is thousands of miles from the street corner.

"Why am I going back? What am I thinking?" he says urgently.

His attention returns to me suddenly and he smiles a jovial smile.

"You'll have a great time!"

The hand is red but he steps out backwards onto the street and into the night.

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You, a chandelier of light
Elegant shimmering crystals
Allowing brief and broken reflections
To illuminate those of us below

And I, a hopeful balloon
Which at kind glance streams skyward
Which at careless word might burst.

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