sick but not tired

Over the last two weeks, I have gone through a serious attack of mucus of the most malicious kind that left me mostly inept for more than half of the days. This has fortunately helped me sleep in high pitch dreaming frequencies, allowed me to work at minimal -almost subsidence- levels and left me enough time to think, an activity which is widely known to be highly suppressed among members of the scientific community.

As in most cases -and as Borges would have been delighted to reassure the small readership of this blog, if only he was alive and bothered to do so- most of the things one thinks about have already been said or somehow expressed already. My -rather un-original- questioning can be no exception to the above rule. Therefore I can redirect the doubtful reader to the previous post where my dear Gustave (in the form and shape of a 19th century Diogenes) is cynically at his best!

Over the last days I have suffered meetings with (demanding) scientists, talked to (highly demanding) editors of (highly rated) scientific journals, anticipated the (un-dubiously defined as being all about "fun and money") talks of hot-shot researchers. All of the above -rather diverse but the least divertive activities- steered me on for some additional thinking. And as every activity, when undertaken by a scientist -or at least one who is being paid to behave as such- they had to boil down to some conclusion, which they did with no great complication. And it so turns out that listening to Queens of the Stone Age, watching "Dr. Strangelove" for the 5th time, re-reading some of Saramago's finest irony (re-written by him so that it is re-read as Borges would again assert had he bla-bla...) and -last but not least kicking- a ball around with some friends up in Mundet, are FAR more important, meaningful let alone amusing and mind-soothing than most of paper preparations or scientific talks. And that my dear Watson is a fact!

Over the next days I have to devote most of my time to prepare a manuscript for submission, which means a series of "self-improving" tasks such as changing format in references, adjusting image size and drafting a cover letter aiming at convincing, not mentioning impressing the editor that two years' work has been no waste and can be of virtual interest to him/her. It may prove to be so, since he or she (already so busy with other people's submissions) may not have yet submitted to the charms of either Saramago or Queens of the Stone Age. But as long as this humble submitter is concerned, the die is cast and nothing can convince me that these "self-improving" tasks are improving this self in any other level than the one of strengthening me against mental torture.

That I am still questioning all that, means I may be still sick (only without the mucus) but not tired. And that my dear Watson is yet another fact.

Sadly, deductions from these facts remain, still, elusive.