Beginnings

This is the beginning of my fictional story based from my research on food-related illnesses:

Science is the most boring thing in the world. Trust me, I'm not exaggerating. As usual, my mom has to love the one thing I actually hate with all my heart. I'm Carra Langsten, and I am the daughter of one of the most famous scientists in the world. My mother, Rachelle Langsten, is well-known for her scientific break-through in the world of germs. She had found the soul purpose of germs' lives, and she recorded it, and she was given millions of dollars for it. Honestly, I don't see why. Give me any kind of germ and i can find the base of its life source in about five seconds. It really isn't that hard. I don't see how any other scientist hadn't seen it earlier. Besides her germ break-through, she has also conducted many famous experiments with trying to kill the germs. Luckily, for me, another scientist had found the pesticide before my mom. If my mom had found it, then I would never hear the end of it. Just more hours at press conferences. More hours at college lectures. More hours in inerviews. More hours in the lab. More hours being harrassed by my science teachers about my mom and if they could meet sometime. I guess you could say I was a master at excuses because, seriously, would you want to have five different science teachers eating at your dinner table? Not me.
I got up from the couch in the corner of my mom's personal lab. Oh, yeah, did I mention that? Yeah, my mom was given her own personal Jeffersonian lab personally by the President. No, not the president of the Jeffersonian. The President of the United States. That's a pretty big deal right there. So I'm walking around the lab because my legs were cramping. I stared at my mom as she was leaning over the microscope, as still as a statue except for her hand that was scribbling furiously on the notepad. You think a doctor's hand writing is messy? Try reading a scientist's hand writing while their observing something. Now THAT'S something I would like to see an archeologist decode.
My mom remained at her little observation table. She didn't notice that I was walking around. She didn't notice that I was picking up her prized trophy. Once, I even sliced my hand open accidentaly on one of her knives, and she didn't even notice it until I was shoving her arm with my bloody hand. I swear, mom is so unobservant when it comees to reality. I could walk in one day, scream at the top of my lungs: "Goodbye Cruel World! I will miss you not!" and then hang myself right infront of her, and she wouldn't notice until three hours later when her contacts would start getting dry from staring so long at the SAME STINCKN' THING!