This happens sometimes, when you're married to a scientist

The scene:  It's 7 am, half an hour after Dane turned off the alarm and hid it under some dirty laundry.  Dane and I are under the covers in our bed, with Duncan.  Tristan has climbed on top of everyone.  I have been tossing and turning all night, alternately worrying about work, untangling Duncan's fingers from my hair, and fitfully dreaming that the entire family is swimming, sleeping, and doing cannonballs in a giant muddy pond of venison soup.  With carrots. 

Me: I'm having a complete crisis of confidence.  That's what it is.  I'm so inexperienced.  I've never been the PI on a real proposal.  I only know about some kinds of proposals.  I've been working so  slowly for four years.  I've hung on, but that's all.  Everyone at my new job is so smart, and so competent.  They do extremely high quality work at a tremendous rate.  I have so many constraints, I don't know how I can keep up.  Everyone has been so sick.  I'm always driving someone 50 miles to the doctor.  I don't know how I'm going to get enough paying work done in my limited day care hours and get new funding.  I'm so isolated in the middle of nowhere. I don't know how I'm going to handle all the travel I have coming up this year and still be productive.  I don't have any mentors who are juggling the stuff I'm juggling -- two little kids, an extra job to pay for day care, trying to come back to science after time out . . . I'm slow and stupid and burnt out . . . everyone else is so smart and efficient. . . Everyone is going to realize I'm stupid and lazy.

Dane: Oh.  It must be Thursday.  Duncan, do you want to watch Pulp Fiction?

Duncan:  No?

Dane: Oh, well.  I gave you a chance, buddy.



In Dane's defense, he has heard this before.  In my defense, Thursday is as good a day as any to be neurotic.