So, I'm just sitting here, it's almost 2:30 AM now, the old clock in the hall just chimed twice, and I can hear the crickets outside, which is usually a comfort, you know, being out here in the sticks. But tonight it’s just… loud. And I’m looking at this computer screen, the one I just spent another thirteen hours staring at, looking at these tiny, tiny specks of ancient dirt. From those samples I got from the site last year, the ones near the old mill pond that dried up. I spent three weeks out there, digging, sifting, under that hot sun, felt like every mosquito in the county knew my name. (My knees still ache from it, actually, especially on the left side.) And now I’m back here, in this lab, which is supposed to be the culmination of, well, a lot of years. And I just keep thinking… does any of this MATTER? Like, really? I mean, I’m supposed to be figuring out the exact composition, the microbial life from, what, twelve thousand years ago? Maybe even older. Trying to link it to climate patterns back then, the whole shebang. And Dr. Henderson, my advisor, he’s all excited, says it’s groundbreaking stuff. (He always says that though, even when my preliminary findings were… less than groundbreaking. Nice man, but a bit overly enthusiastic.) But I look at these spreadsheets, these graphs, all the tiny numbers, and I just feel this… emptiness. Who cares, really? Besides three other people in the whole world, probably? Is anyone else out there, working on something so incredibly niche, that you just wake up one day and think, 'What in the good Lord's name am I even doing?' My neighbor, old Mrs. Gable, she asked me the other day, when I was getting the mail (just the usual junk, really, and the electric bill), what I was doing these days. And I started to explain about the ancient soil, and her eyes just sort of glazed over. She just smiled and said, "Oh, that's nice, dear." She probably thought I was digging for worms, or maybe just lost my marbles. And it's not like I can really explain it to anyone here. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows I’ve been “at the university” for ages. They just assume I’m doing something important. But what if it's not? What if I've just spent my entire adult life, all these decades, chasing after something that means absolutely nothing to anyone, including myself, anymore? Am I the only one who feels like they’ve just… wasted it all? I feel like I’m supposed to be making a difference, you know? Not just cataloging dirt. It just feels... small. And very, very lonely.