This seemingly innocuous piece of plastic has ruled my life for the last five and a half years. It is a tireless and cruel taskmaster. It tells me when I can eat, when I can sleep, and most disturbingly, when I can take a bathroom break. That beeping sound now elicits a Pavlovian reflex – whenever I hear a series of beeps I start frantically looking around and struggling to remember what I am supposed to be doing. It’s a little (ok, lot) sad. There have even been casualties – the kitchen timer I received as a birthday present this year has been banished from my home. I cannot tolerate that grating sound in my place of peace and relaxation.

And yet, as a researcher in an academic lab, I have more flexibility and freedom in my schedule than people employed in corporate America, or anywhere, for that matter. My days in lab are an interesting dichotomy – on the one hand, I get to decide when I go into lab, and when I leave for three hours to get a haircut (just once, and yes, it does take that long). When I am working, however, every second of my time is spoken for. I have to hit every mark and remember every move as though I were in a ballet company. This may be specific to my assays, but even a momentary lapse in my concentration can have infuriating results.

I decide broad strokes of my schedule but the minutia of my day are dictated to me. Since I have never had a job outside of a laboratory [ a) that’s sad, and b) Blockbuster for 3 months doesn’t count ] I don’t know if this is how the outside world works as well. I guess I will find out soon enough.

P.S. I am now on my 6th or 7th timer. For some strange reason, they don’t last long for me…