Take Good Care Of My Baby

While I was busy working I developed a cold, and my now husband was having health problems of his own. Being long distance it was hard to pick which one of us would be the one driving. The one weekend I made Mike come, he ended up getting really sick. He went to the doctor with results that would be explained later. I, on the other hand, did not go to the doctor. I didn't have time, I never went to that insurance seminar, and I wasn't sure what my shitty grad school insurance covered out in the new place. So, I wrote it off as a cold. I thought exercise would help. I thought spicy food would help clear the congestion. I did everything except go to the doctor and get some rest. I ended up giving my cold to everyone. They would get better, and I was still sick. The guy I worked with got a cold and heard me coughing and such. He said, "Oh, did I give you my cold"? I explained to him that I had given him my cold. He stared at me funny, and I still did nothing. Finally a researcher approached me and asked me to go to the doctor. It was becoming a public health issue. I became known as "Typhoid Marissa". I went to the doctor, and it turned out I had a sinus infection. I got antibiotics and an inhaler for my resulting asthma problems. It was no big deal, which is why I should have gone to the doctor much earlier. But being sick didn't stop me from getting work done, so they really didn't care in the beginning. It wasn't until it was a concern for themselves that they started to worry.
(Title: Take Good Care Of My Baby, Bobby Vee)

Everybody's Working for The Weekend

When I got to my experiment, there was a huge rush to get the analysis done. I got to my experiment in February, I had to have results by early May for a conference. So I plodded my way through never before used code. There wasn't even real data to work with. But I was putting every thing in place so that the second the data came along, Boom! I would run my code over it and suddenly I would have my last second results. That plan seemed to be working.

While I was in a mad dash to get my analysis done, I had to do a service project for the experiment. I had told my advisor that I wanted to do something hands on, and he found me something really cool. The problem was that, while I enjoyed doing this thing, it was like having a second job. When I wasn't working on my analysis I was working on the service project. Analysis by day and evening, service project by morning and night. As staff on my experiment I was eligible for better insurance. I just had to go to a seminar. And when was the seminar? During the time that I absolutely, positively had to be working on my service task. At the time I thought missing the seminar wasn't bad. I would get around to doing it...
(Title: Working For The Weekend, Loverboy)

Love The One You're With

Back at my institution I had friends. One of my best friends hadn't graduated yet. Another best friend had recently moved back for a job. I had my pub buddies. And my really good friends in the Boston area were only 2 - 2.5 hours away. I lived alone in my one bedroom apartment, but I was never really alone.

We I got to Ithaca, I had no one. I shared an office with my ex, and everybody loved and was friends with my ex. So it was a little awkward. I was working like crazy and not really trying hard enough, I guess. When I first got there a female grad student asked me how things were doing. I responded with, "Well, I haven't done much, but my apartment is really nice." Apparently when she asked me again, I had the same answer. She looked at my with disdain and said, "That's what you said before." I was hurt. As time went on, I had not gotten a key to the building. Other students would ask me, "Do you have a key, yet?" When I responded, "No", they just laughed. At the time I thought it was rude. Maybe they were, but I was doing a very god job myself. I should have asked people to lunch. I should have asked them to come with me to get the key. I should have invited them to my huge apartment. But I didn't. They gave up on me, and I gave up on them. What is this? Nail number 3?
(Title: Love The One You're With, Stephen Stills)

He's A Rebel

Shortly after I arrived at my experiment, we had a big meeting. The version of the experiment that I was working on was just starting. Hence the new code. Anything was up for grabs when it came to developing software, etc. My advisor (Jerry) and the other guy I worked with (Dan) had a problem with a particular feature in a piece of software. They felt strongly about it. I agreed with them, but I had just started to be in my experiment. A guy gave a talk about that software. In his last slide he listed the people who are against them, and there it is. Listed on the slide is Dan, Jerry, and Marissa. Talk about winning friends and influencing people. Nail number two in my coffin.
(Title: He's A Rebel, The Crystals)

Any Way You Want It

When I got to my experiment, I was asked to have some plots done by Friday for a meeting. Monday was my first day. I had to use beta software and fake data. When I used the fake data the webpage said, "This is a test and is not intended for people to use for analysis." So, what did I do? I used it because we didn't have real data and I needed to get things done. I also had to use beta code that was under development. This was my introduction. Needless to say I had a hard time, which in turn annoyed the people developing the code. Understandably so. Here is some newbie annoying you about how to use things when you are wicked busy. I think maybe my frustration made me less nice than I could have been. Nail number one in my coffin.
(Title: Any Way You Want It, Journey)

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

About a week after I got back from grandpa's funeral, they finally had the qualifier results ready. I passed! I was so happy I could have fallen out of my freakin' chair. One of the professors said, "Look at how happy she is." Happy doesn't begin to describe it. This was it. Everything from here on out would be OK. If I could pass the qualifier, I could make it. I was someone worthwhile. I was going to Ithaca! I went and bought a bottle of champagne. Moet and Chandon White Star. I drank almost all of it myself while waiting for Mike to make it up from Poughkeepsie.

Then the fun part came. Get out! Get a place in Ithaca. It was in the middle of February in a college town. I ended up finding an awesome place. Mike helped me move. It was freezing cold. While we drove to Ithaca snow was blowing off the fields. It was like driving through that Windows screen saver with the stars. But we survived, got a bunch of junk food and relaxed and had a good night of sleep. All well deserved.
Things were falling into place.
(Title: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, Cyndi Lauper)

May Angels Lead You In

About a week after I took part 2 of the qualifier, I got the call that my grandfather had passed away. He and I had always been buddies. He was the last of my mother's parents to go. The two people who were my best family. I made a quick flight. I avoided the 5 am flight and took one a little later. When we got to the nursing home the staff had just discovered he was dead. I walked into the room. He was laying on the bed stuck in a position that looked as if he had been shocked. His beautiful blue eyes were now black. I tried to say goodbye, but all I could do was cry. The funeral was a disaster. My mom and her older brother had a horrible fight. He looked like he was going to hit her and then threatened to call a lawyer. I can't remember why.

I had only made plans to stay home a week. My advisor was being nice letting me go that long. Not only did I have to find out about the qualifier, but they had signed me for a conference on research that I hadn't even started. Mom wanted me to stay and go to Seaside. That would have been nice, but I had to go back. Failing out wouldn't bring grandpa back. I still cry when I tell the story of how I found him. I will always miss him. But he would have been more proud of me for staying in school than entertaining my mother. R.I.P. Grandma and Grandpa
(Title: Hear You Me, Jimmy Eat World)

I Mean It. I Promise.

I passed part 1 of my qualifier in August 2003. This meant I had to take part 2 in January and pass it or I was out! I told my mom that I couldn't be home as long as usual, so that I could study. I made my flight plans in late August/early September. My now husband, Mike, and I had our first date on September 20.

When I got off the plane in December, my Mom was already fighting with me. We get home and she lets loose. She was mad at me for blowing me off for Mike. She thought I had picked my flight so I could spend more time with Mike. I explained to her that I had made the flight plans long before Mike and I started dating. This didn't work. She flew off the handle. How could I pick a boy over her? She would be there forever. He could break up with me tomorrow. I again explained how I made the flight before we dated and that I really needed to study. She went on about how I never spent time with her. Then she asked me a question that will come up later: "What would you do if I had terminal cancer?" I tried to say that I would come down and help her. She said, "Just wait. You'll see." I'm sorry, did my mother threaten to get cancer to prove a point? I went home as planned as upset as ever, but I resumed my studying with Mike and my friend Kat. It was going to be OK...
(Title: Please Don't Leave Me, Pink)

Somehow Here Is Gone

This was the quick and dirty time line of my graduate career. Perhaps from here on out I will give more detailed versions of what happened.
(Title: Here Is Gone, Goo Goo Dolls)

I Think Never Is Enough

I couldn't get a research job, so I kept doing temporary teaching jobs. I did one at my institution. I was awful and the job was awful. I ended up int the hospital before the semester even ended. That was fun. But that was a picnic compared to my next job.

My department chair had sent me an e-mail about a job at a local College. I didn't want it, so I ignored the e-mail. One day my cellphone rings. You have to understand that my cellphone is usually out of charge and/or nowhere near me, but that day it was charged, near me, and I answered. It was the department chair for that other College. Next thing I know I am interviewing and accepting the job. But I didn't want it! Not even a little. But it was mine and I figured I could deal. I got so upset at that job that I started throwing up on the way into work. At first I thought it was a stomach flu. Nope. I was that upset. And I only taught one class! And that, ladies and gentleman, is why I will never take a teaching job again. I don't care how good the school is supposed to be. Never. So quit sending me job advertisements. I appreciate the thought, but I don't enjoy carrying a brown bag in the car with me, just in case.
(Title: Never Is Enough, Barenaked Ladies)

Wishin' and Hopin' and Thinkin'

Dan's job was not the first one I applied to. I applied to a job while I was still writing. Never heard back. I applied for a Medical Physics job in Chicago. Never heard back. I applied for a Medical Physics job in Pittsburgh. Never heard back. I applied for an Applied Math job in Virginia. One e-mail, then poof! gone. And then I found a Medical Physics job in Richmond. It was perfect. They really needed someone with more coding and Physics experience than the medical stuff. Perfect! I asked for letters. My advisor sent his immediately. The people seemed interested. They asked for my other letters which Jake and Dan lovingly took about a month to send. After their letters things went quiet. I e-mailed the people at the new job and got a curt response. And that was the end of that. Dan's job was next. When I didn't get that one, or even hear from him I knew my career was over. I literally put my blood, sweat, and tears into that damn thesis. And yet I ruined my career before it was over. Only I could do something like that. Too bad ruining careers isn't lucrative.
(Title: Wishin' And Hopin', Dusty Springfield)

She's Out of My Life

In the previous post I mentioned a job with Dan. I e-mailed my CV, I suffered through the meeting with Helen, and I made sure everything was in order. I was probably the first one who applied seeing as I jumped on it within 5 minutes of reading the e-mail. As I said, I knew that there was still a good chance that I wouldn't get the job, but I had a chance, right? Wrong. I never heard back from the Department. I never heard from Dan. They never mentioned the job search again. Then, about 6 months later he hires another guy from my experiment. Who also had an unpublishable thesis, thank you very much, Helen. I'm not saying that I wouldn't hire that other guy over me. He is very talented and I am pretty sure he isn't nutter butters like me. Still. How can someone who worked with you for 3 years not so much as acknowledge you. This is when I knew it was over. Dan, one day you will go through something major, and it will affect your work adversely. Maybe you will even get fired. I hope when that happens you remember me.
(Title: She's Out Of My Life, Michael Jackson)

So Take a Letter Maria

At my experiment I worked closely with an expert on my topic named Dan. Dan and I got along really well. At least I thought we did. We agreed on styles of doing things and we agreed about what was interesting. I liked working with him a lot. While I was teaching I get an e-mail that he was hiring. I was thrilled. What luck! I knew that I may not be the one who got the job, but still. Since Dan was one of the ones doing my recommendation letters, I had to find someone new. And that new person was...Helen, of course. I asked her to write a letter, and she asks for a meeting. OK. I get in there and it is the usual "bashing Marissa" party. I was told that, although I kind of got screwed by being forced out, it was my problem that I had to fix to get a job. She told me my thesis wasn't god enough to get a job. She told me that was an inconsistent worker. But the winning statement was...."We only signed your thesis because we felt sorry for you and you had a job." So:

Dear Committee,
I don't need your pity, and those are your signatures, not mine.
<3
Marissa
(Title: Take A Letter, Maria, Doug Stone)

Teach Your Children Well

When I graduated it appeared that there were no research jobs in sight and my husband and I needed money. Then I get an e-mail that a local College is looking for a Visiting Professor. I went and interviewed. I was offered the job with a pretty kickin' salary. I was told that the job was for one year, renewable for up to five years. The only reason I wouldn't get renewed was if enrollment dropped, and we smiled laughed about that. It wasn't what I wanted to do forever, but it would get money and insurance to my husband and I through his grad career. Then I learned of their search for tenure track faculty. I assumed that, when they hired me, they had included that in their considerations when they hired me. Wrong. They ended up hiring two people to replace me. They never even gave me a notice of non-renewal. They just explained it to me one day at the very end of the semester. So, Anonymous College, you could have just told me the truth and I would have still taken the job. I hope you enjoy your old, white males who will be well over fifty when they get tenure, much less the promotion to Full Professor. There is a bit of schadenfreude in the fact that Jake (a former "advisor" from my institution) got the job there. And I'm almost certain it's not where he wants to be.
(Title: Teach Your Children, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young)

Purple Haze All in My Brain

I finally made it to the defense. At first I thought I was totally ready, and then I laughed really hard. Thankfully I had an anti-anxiety pill, legally prescribed by my legit psychiatrist. She recommended to take one or two pills. So, about 30 minutes before defending I took one pill. I figured I would wait a while to see if I needed the second one. So I did a clever/dumb thing. I put pills in the bottle cap so I could take a pill discretely. Well, I should have just put one extra pill in there, but instead I dumped a bunch in there. I kept feeling like they weren't working, so I would take another and another and another. I ended up taking 5 pills, which is precisely five times what I should have taken. All I remember is yelling at a committee member for asking a dumb question and being a jerk. After that I blacked out. They ended up passing me. I came home, slept for 5 hours, and my husband ordered pizza while I slept. And that is how I survived and celebrated my defense.
(Title: Purple Haze, Jimi Hendrix)

Time Is On My Side

I wrote my own fitter from scratch. It was the right thing to do, and I loved it. My colleagues just used an old one. You would have thought writing your own code would have given me street cred. Oh no. They disrespected me all the way, even as I blew through my analysis.

My analysis was unusual. It involved a 4-D rather than a 2-D fit like everyone else did. It took forever. As I neared my defense date we had to reschedule because my code took anywhere from a week to almost a month to run. And who got blamed? Me. Why not? It's what my Mom always did. Anyways, I tried to explain the slow down. Going from 2-D integration to 4-D integration was a big hit in terms of computability time. They didn't listen. My analysis only had 180 events. They fit 10,000 events and it didn't take as long. I asked the dimension of the fit. It was 1-D. I again explained the reason for the slow down was the 4-D integration. Another person responded with, "I fit 40,000 points and it didn't take this long." It of course was also 1-D. I even pulled out the documentation to show how the time to compute scaled with dimension. I am pretty sure the whole time they were thinking, "But I fit 10,000 points in less time."

I'm not done. In order to do my analysis I needed a lot of processors to do multiple jobs at a time. My experiment had such a system. I asked to do it and they told me there was a 2 hour limit on jobs. What the bloody hell was everyone else doing at this experiment?
(Title: Time Is on My Side, The Rolling Stones)

I Don't Need to Be Forgiven

You know how back in high school you hang out with just one cheerleader or jock and they were really cool, but then when they got together with other cheerleaders/jocks they were absolutely horrible. Well Physics is a lot like that. My advisor, Jerry, rocked. He put up with my craziness. He was good at explaining things, but also encouraged independence. He was the coolest and still kinda is. But then he got together with Helen and Jack and all bets were off. Jerry would always say, "This is your thesis. You are the expert." Damn straight I was the expert! Then I would have a meeting with Jerry, Jack, and Helen. They would ask me a question and, as I was answering it, they would stop me and said I should know that by now. Or they would question a sentence in my thesis and while I was explaining it they would say, "If you don't know what it means, you shouldn't put it in your thesis." Of course I knew what it meant! They just fucking interrupted me before I could. Or they wouldn't like my explanation. After they were done interrupting me, not listening to a word I said, and frustrating the hell out of me, they would say, "You know, you really should know this stuff." And when I got down on myself, they would try to tell me I was smart. They sure didn't treat me that way. One day Helen was being a bitch and doing her whole, "This analysis is pointless" thing. So I brought in a poster I had made for a conference. I explained things to her. She continued being nasty. I left the office and I tore the poster apart I was so mad. Helen, I would like you to print a new copy for me. And my analysis rocks. You're the problem.
(Title: Baba O'Riley, The Who)

Enough Is Enough Is Enough

I had known Helen since the Summer between Junior and Senior year. She was my first research advisor. There was some weirdness, but I figured it was just me. Some of it was. So when Helen approached me towards the end of my thesis saying she wanted to be my co-advisor I went along with it. She needed the boost to get her closer to getting a promotion and I was happy to help. But you know what they say. No good deed goes unpunished.

Helen turned out to be a raging bitch. Apparently no one ever explained to her the difference between constructive criticism and brutal and soul crushing criticism. She insulted me and called me a bad scientist. She insulted my research calling it worthless and uninteresting. She insulted me for not working more consistently. She made fun of me for what was my lacking self-esteem and my severe mental illness by saying that some days I was on top of things and some days I couldn't remember what I had for breakfast. To Helen, I am deeply sorry that my mental illness was such an inconvenience. You know how they say that you should be careful how you treat someone because you never know how much power they could end up having. Well, Helen, you can't seem to keep grad students and, when you go for Full Professor, I am going to explain why. How does it feel to have your every mistake held against you?
(Title: Enough Is Enough, Donna Summer)

Isn't She Lovely?

At some point it was me with my husband and cats, and, of course my precious Dalitz plots. But all was not well. In May 2006 I hit a major tailspin and ended up in the hospital. This is when the Lithium got added. That worked for a while.

In November/December 2006 I ended up being admitted, discharged, re-admitted. I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years in the hospital. As proof of my dedication to my work, I manged to get some major research done between admissions. When I got back to the hospital, we ended up doing 12 bilateral ECTs. I am lucky I remember my name. When I got back, I got into an argument with my advisor. He insisted that I had done something that I had no recollection of doing. I look in my lab notebook and realize, "Holy Crap, it does appear that I actually did that." So, I pieced that together and figured it out.

So for those of you people who tell me that I seem like my memory is funny, or I have neurological problems, here it goes: I got research done between hospitalizations, and I managed to put it all back together after all those fucking ECTs. Suck it, bitches!
(Title: Isn't She Lovely, Stevie Wonder)

What Do You Hear in These Sounds?

One of the best part about being the outsider is that the old white men never listened to me. EVER. At one point I tried to redo an old analysis as a test to my code. It wasn't working out. I gave a talk about this. I got up there and said, "The fits looks good, but the numbers never match up." A man speaks up, "Yes, but the numbers don't match." I responded, "Yes, no matter what we do, we cannot get the numbers to match." Other old man says, "Yes, but compare the old numbers to yours. They don't match up." My response, "No, they don't match up. That is my problem I am working on." Old man, "Look at the K* amplitude. Compare those two numbers. They are definitely not the same." Me, "Right. Again, my numbers do not match the numbers from the previous analysis." They tried to keep this line of questioning up until the guy running the session aborted my talk to make room for new ones. I will never understand how we ended up in an argument when all sides agreed. I truly wonder if what I say matches what I think. Or if they are just douchebags. Whatever I think doesn't matter. I am sure they blame me.
(Title: What Do You Hear in These Sounds?, Dar Williams)

Knowing Me, Knowing You

It has been established that I fucked up when it came to making friends at my experiment. Talk about winning friends and influencing people - you should have seen me with Professors. One day I am going to get coffee. One of the Cornell Professors sees me and we introduce ourselves. I explain what I am doing and, dripping with sarcasm, he says to me, "Yeah, just because no one else has seen it before it doesn't mean you won't." When I tried to explain how my experiment was different, he walked away rolling his eyes. I am pretty sure that was the first time we met. All because I said, "Hi, I'm Marissa."
(Title: Knowing Me, Knowing You, ABBA)

What Would You Think If I Sang out of Tune?

I have always been a little weird, but in the beginning of grad school, I had friends. We would close out the campus pub, get pizza, maybe catch a movie. When things got rough one of my friends and I would get chai and sit on library hill chatting and relaxing. But things were horrible. I had the qualifier looming over my head. What if I failed? Where would I go? I finally managed to pass. From there on out it was golden.

Wrong. I moved out to my experiment. The students there seemed to already have their cliques and I am awkward so I didn't do a good job being a joiner. I worked hard, hang with my cat in my apartment, and spent time with my now husband. I never got the chance to join the cool kids at my experiment. Then, instead of trying to meet people at the bar, I tried to kill myself. After that my husband and friends insisted I move back, so I wouldn't be alone. But in my experiment I was very alone. I was that weird girl who made the controversial move. For mysterious reasons, no less. I don't envy my advisor for trying to argue for me. Anyways, the end result is that I was and am the odd woman out. And that was just with the students.
(Title: With A Little Help From My Friends, The Beatles)

Manic Depression Is a Frustrating Mess

At this point I think pretty much everyone agrees that I am bipolar. I take 6 different drugs for psychiatric reasons. I go to therapy once a week, therapy group twice a week, and psychiatrist at least once a month.

It all started when I was 12. My moods got unstable. I became suicidal. My once standing as a straight-A, model student went away. Suddenly I was a C/D student. And the Ds were gifts. I had outbursts, I would get upset and run out of the room. I threw a book at a teacher. At home, thought, I was innocent, well-behaved me. Eventually the bad grades caught up with me, and I had t start holding it all in everywhere, again. Later I learned they had diagnosed me as manic depressive. My mother had refused help.

For years I pressed on despite my illness. I got into college and survived that. But then came grad school. A painful process for anyone, grad school brought out the mental illness to levels as high as it had ever been. And so far I have lived to tell the tale. (Title: Manic Depression, Jimi Hendrix)