There are somewhere around thirty seven trillion cells that make up the human body. Of this trillion of cells there are about 200 different types of cells ranging from 10 -100um (micrometers). Each cell contains a nucleus full of DNA. If you take this DNA and stretch it out, it is about two meters long. That’s about six and half feet. I am five feet, seven inches tall. I am a little bit shorter than a length of DNA. That’s to help you put all of it into perspective. All of that DNA is twisted and tied up with various proteins in order to fit inside the nucleus of a cell and yet still be assessable for genes to be read for coding by messenger RNA to make more proteins for cell function. The whole process is very complicated. That’s just normal cell function. I haven’t mentioned what has to happen during cell division.

And I find the whole process extremely fascinating.

I think what is so fascinating is this organization is an intrinsic process. This is not a learned behavior. There is no molecular sized Marie Kondo teaching each cell how to fold and compact its DNA. Cells just do it and have been for a really really super long time. Sure, there are the occasional mistakes. There are contingency plans in place for many mistakes and sometimes those mistakes are missed. Those missed mistakes can have some pretty catastrophic results, but there’s no such thing as actual perfection. I mean, there is no such thing as perfection in anything. But for the most part, cells just keep their shit organized. Considering the size and scope and importance of that, it’s pretty amazing.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I have started and deleted so many posts this week. I felt the need to write something, anything, but I also felt the need to edit myself (for various reasons). Sitting down and stringing words together to tell a story should be a daily practice. It should be part of my daily routine. Cindy’s daily routine: shower, dress, make breakfast, feed the dog, zip to work, wipe down every microscope with an ethanol wipe (people are gross), walk four thousand steps to get a cup a coffee, work some more, thirty minutes of cardio, one hour of yoga, more work, zip home, feed the dog, feed the humans, watch some TV, wash face and teeth, go to bed, repeat it all again the next day. Somewhere in there I should be wedging in ‘write five hundred words’. Instead I’ve managed to put a square of time to window shopping at Anthropologie or reading shoe reviews (my toes go numb in my running shoes when I’m on the elliptical and I don’t think that’s normal).

Last Saturday morning was the first Saturday morning in ages where I was up early to get some errands accomplished before everyone in the house woke up. That means sitting down with the Fortune Cookie journal while eating a biscuit sandwich. The prompt was something about life is funny, don’t forget to laugh. I proceeded to write a descriptive scene about a group of friends huddled together as they watched the casket of their dear friend slowly lower into the ground. The whole time I was writing it, I thought “hold on…wait for it…this is going somewhere funny.” Except it never did. I ran out of room before I even came close to writing something funny. I swear I had a plan, a plan that had something to do with a case of prosecco and a limo. That could be funny right? Actually, I find a scene of a woman trying to write something funny, but writes about a funeral instead, to be pretty funny. My head may not be in the right space for writing right now.

If I could organize my thoughts as well as my cells organize it’s DNA, I’d stand a better chance at wedging in that writing time.