It was a bright cold day in October, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

Organic chemistry, you're killing me.

This year is an uphill struggle unlike any I've ever encountered before. But I will do it. In the end, I just can't hate chemistry.

In two weeks, I'll be heading back to Pittsburgh to present a demonstration at the Carnegie Science Center with a few friends. I don't know exactly what we'll be doing yet (I'm pulling for an invisible ink theme), but I'm pretty excited. We need to get our act together in science. I'm all for getting kids excited about it early, because if there's anything I've realized recently, it's that we are in desperate need of logical, questioning individuals in our society (see: The Tea Party). But I digress.

I had an interesting fall break, in accordance with my recent, inexplicable life. I had a craving for pizza made on the grill, and it burst into flames shortly thereafter. The reactions were as follows:

Me: "The pizza!"
My mother: "My pizza stone!"
My father: "The house!"

The pizza was left unscathed and full of slightly smoky deliciousness.

My life has also become significantly more stress-free after quitting my editorship at the newspaper. Of course, this decision did not come without difficulties. Don't assume I mean the normal difficulties, either. Think more along the lines of an episode of Arrested Development, which is apparently what my life has degenerated (or upgraded?) into. This event went as followed:

SETTING:
Our protagonist enters the newspaper office, weeks of mental preparation for what she is about to do behind her. She is calm, tentatively rid of all sense of guilt. After all, she reasons, her colleague is here to take her place. This is all that stands between her and a chance at passing Organic.

OUR HERO: Hello all! I have something to tell you.

ALL: Okay! But can we tell you something first?

[Our hero assumes this will be an uneventful occurrence, and she agrees. After all, she's about to quit and nothing will get her down.]

ALL: Well, your colleague isn't coming tonight.

OUR HERO: Oh, still out of town, is he?

ALL: Actually, he cut his hand off.

OUR HERO: [double take] I'm sorry, what was that?

ALL: Oh, sorry! I meant to say, just his fingers.

OUR HERO: [relieved] Oh, okay. Wait...

ALL: But it's okay, because we still have our hero! She can make up for the fact that he can't take photos for a few months. We're so glad to have you on staff. Oh yes, what were you saying again?

OUR HERO: ...I quit!

ALL: [laughter]

OUR HERO: [laughs, or do we see a few tears?] ...because it's a joke, of course! Hahaha. But really. We still have that other photographer, right?

ALL: He was attacked by a dog. So he's out too.

OUR HERO CRIES INSIDE...AND OUTSIDE.

THE END.

Moral: Stay away from table saws.
More Important Moral: Don't ever let your sentence be interrupted. EVER.



Both hands, guys. Really?

"I've made a huge mistake."