Babies - a tribute to my geology career.
Sometimes, I sit on my bed, cross legged, and cry. Yes, men do cry. I shed these acidic invisible tears, the ones that burn the soul. I mourn the death of my baby. My still born Geology career. Dead before it made it out of the womb that is graduate school, dead before it ever took a breath. Sometimes, I stupidly try to swim through sorrow and end up drowning in it. Grief erodes common sense, and disrespects mental strength. I mourn the death of my baby. I attempt to come to grips with the loss of my Geology career. Dead the second I held my Master’s degree in my hand, dead before it lived . I take two gulps from my glass of beer, but even this perfectly balanced, expertly brewed liquid can't drowse the melancholy. My salvation does not lie at the bottom of a green beer bottle, I double check as I throw the bottle in the bin. If that bin was the graveyard for Geology careers, my baby would be in there, slowly turning to dust, and in two to three hundred million years