I’ve been up late a lot, recently. Mostly it’s reading research articles on hepatocyte transfer, IPS cells, ocular regeneration, protozoan taxonomy, drug design, etc.. As usual when I’m busy, certain bits of my brain have steadily been working overtime in other departments, integrating what I’ve been learning into bits of my subconscious that I couldn’t find if you gave me a map and said “turn left at the substantia nigra.” Usually this results in weird dreams – I’ve had ones about being a rogue theoretical chemist, a maritime private eye, and the leader of a grassroots strike team during a fascist coup. So perhaps it shouldn’t be terribly surprising that the research articles have rubbed off on my daydreaming, as well. Still, it took me unawares when, last night around midnight, a scene from the major saga that’s been clonking around my skull for years popped up, and I suddenly had an undeniable urge to write out the dialogue. Apparently there’s a fairly long exchange about the legal and ethical complexities of developing biological machines beyond base complexity. What’s more, I went back and read it this morning, and it still made scientific sense and didn’t sound poncey. It even fit in with prior character development and plotline. I’m not sure whether to be unsettled or pleased.

Oh, and today Dr. Mitchell revealed that, from symptomatic evidence, Mighty Mouse suffered from toxocariasis. We also learned the finer points of why you shouldn’t take out the cat litter, wear black on safari, or accept a lobster dinner from a parasitologist.

Life skills.