I was born with a pen in my hand. Literally, the Bic right out of the nurse's lab coat. "She'll be a writer!" they said, "Or a pickpocket!"
They were wrong. I am the worst scientist ever.
I'm Audrey, I'm 21, I started college ten years ago and have been out for two. For the past two years I have attempted to support myself, my cat Cat, and my collection of fish by working as a laboratory technician and research assistant in the field of molecular paleontology. When this doesn't work any more I intend to live in a treehouse, where I can continue the fine Vermont traditions of wearing plaid and drinking myself older.
I'm Audrey, I'm 22, and I didn't go to school, so I spent my childhood running around in the woods, playing with wildlife, and reading all of the books that I wanted to. Therefore, I became a charming-but-awkward young woman whose only option was to go into academia. I'm researching the genetic underpinnings of cancer while living with my cat Cat and my boyfriend, the Brit, in lovely arctic New Hampshire, where we bicker constantly about Narnia, science and projectile weapons.
I'm Audrey, I'm 23, and I married the Brit, left my job, my friends and family, and our cat Cat, and moved to Britain. This is not my story.