I sat down patiently in my apartment's lobby. I was waiting for a parcel, you see. I bought lights for my room on an online shopping spree following my recent crisis. I convinced myself that it was a reward for not blowing my brains out when I thought I'd gotten pregnant from one of the one night stands I had with people whose names I didn't know and whose numbers I didn't save. Yes, I'm that kind of woman. But let us not forget the fact that I've gotten my PhD in microbiology at age 26. I'm treading that fine line between a whore and a nerd. But why do we have a need for such labels? I do not know.
I have been here for hours now- fiddling through my phone and occasionally doing the write-up for my research proposal. I keep my fingers crossed for a research grant (even though I don't really need it) because who wants to spend a third of their salary on agar media and bacteria cultures?
My phone buzzed from the inside of my pajama pocket. It was the online seller. She told me that the courier service will not be able to deliver my parcel and that I have to pick it up in some remote location downtown. Great. But what the hell? I have nothing better to do. I don't need to get back to the lab until Thursday –it's Monday today. I must be able to finish up my proposal by then even with this slight hiccup.
I picked my things up and moved to my bedroom. Doing nothing is better in privacy.
