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Language Log

Wednesday, Jun. 28, 2006 - 7:19 a.m.

I have been wound up tight. Anxious. Nervous energy. Even had trouble getting to sleep last night. So many things. Class, materials for class, the language institute, the nice people and the jerks associated with it, my project, and too many social interactions to go with each of these things. I feel ill. How do people live this way?

My critics are right, I'm not up to this. (I don't know who they are, but I'm sure I have some, and they're right).

I have some results from my first trial. I would like to say, I really love doing experiments. I do. Getting results. Hvaing this mass of data that contain answers to something. Who knows what, exactly, but it's there, there to be discerned. (Even if it's only something about how not to run an experiment). But anyway, I have no idea what to do with this data now. Statistics class under my belt or not. I average things and say, "aha, these numbers are sort of different!" and have this vision of myself as a cavewoman performing brain surgery with a rock.

So, not only do I need a chipmunk sidekick who I can keep in my pocket and talk to, but he should be able to give me good statistics advice. That would be fabulous. Chipmunks of the world, listen up, I'm taking applications for the position. All the nuts you can eat, and I promise I won't send you on any petty errands or ask you to bite my arch-nemesis' ankles or anything (unless you want to).

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