Get the pun in the title? I’m very proud of myself for that. Let me tell you why…
I was absolutely terrible at chemistry. My answers on tests were actually not too far away from this clever answer I found floating on the internet:
And, like most of the population, I hated my chemistry class at school. No really, it was terrible. There was something about it that just wouldn’t “click” in my brain and refused to be remembered. It’s like, as soon as I would walk into the chemistry classroom, my brain would hit “ctrl + alt + del” and would not finish rebooting until the blessed bell finally rang, releasing me from the clammy clasp of chemistry.
When that dreadful year finally ended, I gave massive praise and thanks for the pity of the Chemistry Gods and their benevolence for giving me a passing grade. Actually, I should probably thank the Chemistry Gods’ low tolerance of struggling students and eagerness to get me out of their hallowed halls of chemicals and equations. Or my smarter friends. Yes, I should probably thank them the most…anywho! I danced in a whirlwind of primal joy at never having to take it again, EVER, thanks to the high school IB track I was on (Three years of bio? No prob! Anything but chemistry!) NO MORE CHEMISTRY FOR ME! ::cue Pink Floyd::
And I never thought of it again. And life was good.
And then Life remembered her sense of humor, and had Cupid hit me in the ass and fall in love with a chemist. A CHEMIST!
Doesn’t sound too bad though, right? I’m overreacting, sure, I’m not the one in a lab.
Uh…well. Guess who gets to read over his pages and pages and pages of chemistry reports and publications to check for English mistakes? ME.
I’m proud that I can put my good bullshitting skills I honed in aforementioned chemistry classes to good use in my adult life.
The one chemistry lesson I’ve learned in all this is this simple equation:
Love Chemistry > Polymer Chemistry