Dr. Holiday Wednesday
Below are the 10 most recent journal entries recorded in the "Dr. Holiday Wednesday" journal:
[<< Previous 10 entries]
Very bad today, dear Diary. Overwhelming feelings of loneliness and failure. Almost could not get out of bed.
I'm pushing forty and I've nothing to show but a sheaf of esoteric research papers which briefly pique interest before the next trend in research comes along. Sure, I've won a major award. It is not better than nothing... a tease is not better than nothing. The fruits of my research are a set of cheap party tricks which are of little use to anyone but myself. I expected I would be much further along by now in my work, my so-called 'great' work. What kind of role model am I to Nicole? What am I doing to the poor girl? The acts I've made her a party to... worse still, what have I done to her academic prospects? There is a certain dubious prestige in working with me, I know, but at great cost.
My personal life is characterized by failure. I can't make an intimate relationship work unless I bind the other party to myself in some sybaritic ritual, and even then it's bound to fail... Greta was as tied to me as an individual could be, and in her I perceive little save loathing and contempt, if I'm feeling optimistic; otherwise, indifference. I can only lose my lustre to Nicole as she becomes more aware and confident. And what basis is that for a relationship, and how can I expect an intimate relationship of my laboratory assistant? (sigh) I'm ruining the poor girl. Is there any possible outcome beside her becoming discredited and untouchable? The greatest kindness I could render unto Nicole is to pass her into the tutelage of a more stable colleague... any will do. I cannot explain to her. She will not understand, she will be hurt, but better than to pull her down with me.
Is this dilemma one which Moreau faced before me?
And I have no parents in which to confide. No family worth speaking of. My mother died as a result of my neglect. Not fair on myself? That is a matter of opinion. I knew better. I knew what sort of individual my father was. Perhaps I blame myself so I may retain some vestige of familial association.
I know my thoughts seem incoherent, but this is, perhaps, a moment of true clarity.
Against elementary powers of judgment, I accepted an invitation from my father to visit. I simply could not put this off forever. It is from no sense of forgiveness or pity, I assure you, that I did this. It was simply that I would not have this matter left unresolved, in defiance of my peace of mind.
God. What a sad, sick man. It's one thing to have one's way with one's subjects while they are fully cognizant of the fact, quite another to take advantage of one's unconscious patients (sneer) and so sordid and common... one hears practically every week about a dentist fondling his gassed-up patients. (shakes head) If Father was going to violate his patients' confidence, he might have done something with some style. He favors substance over style... yet has neither.
I find his experience has made him understandably paranoid, and his lack of a practice opportunes much time to dwell upon his mistakes. I am of two minds. Naturally, I am possessed of normal human sympathy, and do not enjoy watching another person suffer. That he is a fellow physician only sharpens this affinity. However, be aware that I lived in the shadow of this man for all my developmental years, this man who was never wrong, even in the face of unassailable logic, and on some atavistic, reptilian level it is deeply satisfying to see him brought low.
He insists I am due some misfortune. He cannot possibly know of my own rather questionable secret life, but his suspicions, if not groundless, are based upon my trajectory since leaving his 'care'. That is to say, my success is in fact failure, by virtue of it not being his intent. I am entirely too conspicuous, he believes. Remember that this is the man, my father, who would have me closeted even when I was a quite ordinary and reserved child. You would suppose, then, I find this observation suspect.
But I am getting ahead of myself.( Read more...Collapse )
I am very seriously considering an endeavor of questionable benefit to me, potentially involving much emotional turmoil, and I need to be quite certain of myself before I proceed. Some individuals, confronted with such a dilemma, consult their horoscope; while others adopt a more direct approach to soul-searching.
I've had LSD before, of course. But it's too inorganic and impersonal for what I had in mind. Under its influence, thoughts come and go quickly, with no wider significance than the immediate, the sensual... this is in my experience, at least. Yours may vary. I sought something more introspective in effect, which would lend itself to a modicum of direction. I opted, instead, for the drug admixture ayahuasca
, the 'yage' famously sought by Burroughs and Ginsberg in the 1950s.
In this case it is not a true ayahuasca, involving substitution of Mimosa hostilis
and Peganum harmala
for Psychotria viridis
and Banisteriopsis caapi
, respectively; and being further refined of impurities. M. hostilis
provides the dimethyltryptamine, while P. harmala
contains the monoamine oxidase inhibitor harmine, essential for DMT's efficacy via the gastrointestinal route. But this is, as is said, academic.( Read more...Collapse )
Nicole and I took dinner together in a local steakhouse, the activity reflective of a night not unlike most. But I'd worked entirely through the previous day, and this evening thought I would just go home to bed, instead of the lab. To bed, but maybe not directly to sleep.
When I put my arm over her shoulder, steering her away from the direction of campus, my assistant gazed up at me with a querulous expression. I explained to her about the all-nighter, and wanting the comfort of my bed. Leaning in, I whispered that I wanted her to take me that night. She had difficulty keeping still once I'd imparted this to her attentive ear, fidgeting against me as she accompanied me to my apartment.
My assistant and I do not play this game very frequently, we having our accustomed roles, but I think it is fair to say that Nicole does not indulge me in this merely for my benefit.
Once safely indoors, I let some of my professional demeanor drop... I cooed to Nicole in the dark and gave her a small kiss, and asked if she was certain she was up for it herself.
"Yes, Doctor," she breathed, her eyes big, shiny. I kissed her again, lingering.( Read more...Collapse )
There at last came opportunity to speak with Dr. Allen in relative privacy, so I screwed up my courage, and approached her in the hall. I'm unused to bringing a conciliatory tone to my voice-- I know this speaks ill of me -- but I attempted such, and called to her. "Allen?"
As she turned, I clasped my hands together in supplication, while making no physical contact; I'm sure my pawing her is the last thing she desires. "Allen, I'm so sorry about that night," I said. "I've been haunted by it ever since."
Allen made a small, inquisitive sound, searching her thoughts. Then she nodded, as though, upon reflection, the liaison in question was of little concern. "No, not at all, Wednesday."
I was prepared to plead my case. Not to explain that I often respond to censure with sexual conquest, that would only make me appear deranged, but to declaim my weakness in such situations, and to plead ignorance of her travails with Hodgson. Her nonchalance was unexpected. "Ah. If that's how you feel."
Allen sighed with rue. "I had a lot to drink that night, but I'm a big girl, and I knew what I could expect." I nodded. After a calculated pause, she added, "I'm divorcing from Gary."( Read more...Collapse )
The author of this journal is presently attempting to 'backfill' entries which, according to story chronology, should already have appeared. Thus the reader should expect some spectacularly out-of-date dates.
Something to raise the eyebrows today, dear Diary. Was offered a bit part in a perfectly ridiculous 'slasher' film with the working title "A Tooth for a Tooth"; which, if the synopsis is to be believed, involves a protagonist who, in childhood, cultivates a homicidal rage towards dentists, with proceedings one can extrapolate with little difficulty from this rather dodgy premise. Almost a student production; the director/producer is an alumnus, thus the locality of setting. Also rather low-budget, as such productions tend to be.
I repeatedly deny interest in the spotlight, but my arguments have, as of late, come over lacking in conviction.
Initially, I supposed the solicitation was result of my appearance in Skin Two, but in fact he, the director, had "seen me around" and impulsively approached me, as so many do. It was suggested I play "a woman scientist". Charming. Again, considering the nature of such productions, I doubt my sudden involvement would disrupt the planning overmuch; although I'm informed, by a knowledgable acquaintance, that directors of low-budget horror films are either insufferably pedantic, or supremely flexible, this latter type open to any suggestion which sounds 'cool'. (I never thought I would habitually stick the word in quotes. Hooray, I am old.)
Unsure if I would be among the slashed-- or in this case, the drilled --but one rule of thumb in context is physical attractiveness = murder bait. Unless one is the heroine. Indeed, there seems to be a correlation between a character's bust size and how quickly she is knocked off, so I should be lucky to survive through the opening credits.
It seemed to me, he was cutting matters a bit fine (no pun), this being the day before Halloween. Indeed, was told I must make a decision by the end of the day; in that case, said I, I would be turning the offer down, as I felt the decision whether to compromise my integrity and/or typecast myself required at least a week's deliberation. You see? I've said 'typecast', as though I anticipate involvement in future endeavors. One hopes only I continue the exercise of discretion.
Little to discuss lately. Work work work.
Gave a quick phone interview to some pedant from Science Actualités regarding my activity since the Alt Parascientific award in 2005. Strongly suspect the gist of his article was my inactivity as he perceives it. I have, in fact, been terribly busy with my work since then. I intimated to him (quite calmly under the circumstances, I felt) that I had something big coming up. Let him speculate on its nature. (sneer) This is science, not self-promotion. I have higher goals than showing off.
Received my contributor's copies from the Skin Two shoot. I've had a copy of the issue off the newsstand before now. Don't know if I mentioned, dear Diary, but I discovered the shoot ultimately condensed to a single photograph. An adequate shot, but not one of my preferred. Does highlight my, ah, work quite nicely, however. (sigh) At least I got a full page. Masturbation at the highest levels of erudite rubber fetish ensues, to be sure.
But in truth, my exhibitionist streak often gains the upper hand, despite my serious-minded intentions. I understand a third cousin from the inbred Pennsylvanian end of my family is an amateur porn star. How alarming. I'm sure such things don't come in lineages... do they, dear Diary? I was such a normal child. (cough) Aside from the obvious. But a fetish mag, even an arty one like Skin Two, is poor substitute for recognition in a scientific journal.
This afternoon, I was right in the thick of testing some new distensible sounds, when I was buzzed from the downstairs labs. Seems they wanted to know if I would retrieve the statue of my laboratory assistant from the corridor.
I have asked them to replace that antiquated Medusa system with something more reliable-- the Basilisk M200 comes most readily to mind --but this being university, they must wring every drop of use from it, I suppose. (sneer) 'Major Boothroyd' down in purchasing refuses to plump for the replacement. "It works, doesn't it?" he persists in asking. Yes, of course it works, that is the essence of the problem... it is all too ready to work, whether desired or not.
Ah well. I dressed Nicole in something elastic, and placed her in the middle of the quad, before reversing the petrification process. I've been remiss in hazing the unfortunate girl.
It turns out what Allen wished to discuss with me that evening was the subject of Dr. Hodgson, and his behavior. Specifically, that he had made advances upon her as well, and what advice did I have to offer, re: resolution, as the resident slut? More than a little ironic that I got her drunk and shagged her that very night. (sigh) I've done a terrible thing.
[<< Previous 10 entries]