Last month, inspired by a wise soul, I decided to start writing this series. Unfortunately, being far too busy in daily life, I never managed to produce a single piece. Yet people in the “real world” seem to think university professors have nothing but free time all day, looking at us with apparent envy. Honestly, I envy them too.
Before the holidays began, I’d actually planned to strike a balance between work and leisure — say, getting up in the morning and heading to a nearby park to soak in the vital energy of heaven and earth. But without an 8 AM class to force me out of bed, mornings lack all motivation. Without the dining hall’s conveniences, a certain carefree charm is lost. By the time I finish cooking, eating, and cleaning up, rush hour is already in full swing, and the pure morning qi has turned turbid. Any desire to venture outdoors simply evaporates.
I open my laptop and discover that the review deadline for a Clinical Case Reports manuscript is imminent — a paper I’d only glanced at a week ago. So a precious morning hour vanishes into the cycle of finding faults, checking references, finding more faults, and writing reviewer comments. The paper, by a Chinese-Australian author, is positively dripping with Chinglish — probably a recent arrival. It was effortless to read, and I momentarily felt my own English had reached the level of absolute mastery. Just then, an email arrives announcing that Professor ZHOU’s article in TCMPR has finally gone live. I open it with deep reverence, only to be yanked back to reality. When, I wonder, will Chinese become the universal language of international academia?
Though I wrote nothing today, experiments made significant progress. The task Dr. LIU had been working on for nearly half a year finally ran with zero errors today — yielding a set of rather underwhelming results. After a night of deep thought yesterday plus another morning’s worth today, it suddenly occurred to me that the data source might be the issue. A flash of insight, and after waiting 240 agonizing minutes for a server in faraway Baoding to finish its max-load computation, the theoretically expected results finally appeared. Dr. LIU is now guaranteed to graduate this year — I’m officially bestowing that title upon him in advance.
Two joint-training master’s students under my supervision are graduating this year. Yesterday they sent me their theses. I took a quick glance — the word count seems sufficient, but the formatting is a mess. Today, summoning iron determination, I read through one in its entirety, only to find it reads much the same as those of students who graduated in previous years. I don’t know if they’ve run plagiarism checks, but as long as the primary supervisor is satisfied, that’s fine by me. Just don’t misspell my name.
As a member of society, I too have my share of worries — which, in theory, shouldn’t exist inside the ivory tower, yet here they are. As a practitioner of Chinese medicine, I’ve always believed that one cannot heal one’s own ailments; worries require someone else to sort them out. So, on an empty stomach, I set off on a quest to find a wise sage. After pouring my heart out — whether he understood any of it, I cannot say — the master bestowed upon me eight characters: Follow the times and know when to stop; keep to your place and guard your peace. Yes, Master, I have achieved enlightenment.
The situation in Ukraine weighs on the hearts of billions. In theory, it’s none of my business, but I can’t shake the feeling that America is stirring things up to deflect domestic discontent — channeling public resistance to COVID policies onto documents signed by Putin, and so forth. For a moment I thought buying gold a few days ago was the right call, but then again, maybe not — what if the conflict fizzles out in a few days? Wouldn’t I have bought in at the very top?
Returning from the sage with a mind full of worries, I find a pile of documents waiting on WeChat. It seems two industry contracts need to be finalized this week, plus one more as a favor. The signing and stamping can be delegated to students, but once I dive into the paperwork, today’s Nature paper is definitely not happening. Suddenly I remember that an expert consensus document, half-written last week, is due this week no matter what. I look out the window — two pigeons are cooing, seemingly mocking my credentials as a low-level master of time management.
Sure enough, today was another day I didn’t publish in Nature.
中文原文 / Chinese Original
上个月受到高人启发决定开始写这个系列，无奈平时实在太（TUO）忙（YAN）了（ZHENG），一直未能成文，但社会人好像觉得大学老师一天天闲的没事干，似乎很是羡慕的样子，其实我也很羡慕。
其实放假开始前我也想每天劳逸结合一下，譬如早上起来去不远处的公园感受一下天地之气，但没有早八的清晨似乎缺乏起床的动力，没有食堂的加持似乎又减少了些许美好的自由时光，等做完饭吃完饭收拾好，早高峰就开始了，天地之气由清转浊，实在是阻挡了出门的欲望。
打开电脑，发现Clinical Case Reports的一篇审稿期限就要到了，而我只在一周前匆匆看了一眼，于是乎美好清晨的一个小时就花费在挑毛病-查文献-挑毛病-写评语上，澳大利亚华人的文章Chinglish味儿十足，估计是刚去不久，读起来毫无难度，竞感觉自己的英语水平炉火纯青。就在此刻，一封邮件通知我ZHOU教授的一篇TCMPR的文章终于上线了，满怀崇敬的心情打开一看，才把我拉回现实，到底什么时候国际上才能通用中文？
今天虽然没有写文章，但实验也有很大进展，LIU博士交代了近半年的实验终于在今天以0Error的形势给出了一堆不是很理想的结果，经过昨天一晚上+今天一上午的深思熟虑，我突然想起来可能是数据源的问题，一个灵光闪现，终于在苦苦等待远在保定的服务器满负荷计算240分钟后跑出了理论上应该出现的结果，LIU博士今年铁定能毕业了，先把这个称号送给他。
今年名下有两个联合培养的硕士要毕业了，昨天他们把学位论文发给我，瞟了一眼，字数貌似还够，但是格式不太行。今天下定必死的决心通读了一遍，发现跟前几年毕业的学生写的大同小异，不知道她们查重了没有，但这事只要一导满意就行，别把我的名字写错就可以了。
作为一名社会人，我也有很多烦恼，按道理说象牙塔里不应该有，但是确实有。作为一名中医人士，我一向认为自己的病自己是看不好的，烦恼需要别人去帮我解决，于是乎在饿着肚子的情况下踏上了寻找高人的旅程，经过一番我也不知道他有没有听懂的倾诉之后，高人送给我八个大字：顺时而止，安份自守。嗯，大师我悟了。
乌克兰的局势牵动亿万人的心，按道理说这不关我的事，但总觉得美国想搞事情就是想转移国内矛盾，譬如说把民众对新冠疫情的抗拒转嫁到普京签署的文件上，等等。我一度觉得前几日买黄金是对的，但好像也不对，万一这仗势没几天就结束了，那我岂不是在最高点买入的？
待我怀揣着一肚子心事从高人那返回后，一堆文件又出现在了微信上，似乎这周要搞两个横向合同，顺带再帮人家搞一个，签字盖章的事可以请学生帮忙，但这文书工作一旦投入进去，今天的Nature就铁定写不成了。猛然间，我突然想起一个专家共识似乎上周就写了一半，这周说什么就得交稿了，望向窗外，两只鸽子在窗外面咕咕叫，似乎嘲讽我是时间管理LOW级大师。
果然，今天是没发Nature的一天。
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