If you know me, or have ever had a conversation with me, you know that I have never had a linear thought in my life.
Probably even not one.
I don’t think in terms of logical progression, I think in a roundabout sort of way. I get there, just not the way you would have done it.
This thought process pattern has never been a problem, except in one area of my life. Math. I was a straight A student until the fourth grade. (I read something somewhere that said that kids who show intelligent and proficiency in schoolwork early usually show a sharp decline somewhere after the fourth grade.) I got my first B during the third quarter of that year.
When we started doing long division, I started to get confused. I did fine, obviously, but that’s where I began to question my ability to grasp everything. What if there was something I might not understand?
Flash forward to seventh grade. I’m not going to linger there, but not being allowed to go into Algebra devastated me. My core was shaken (that’s not even a lie, to this day I’ll never forget how I felt about that). I lost confidence in my ability to move numbers around.
High school. Honors math, sure. Algebra went well for me. It wasn’t until geometry that I had met my math. A quick refresher: geometry involves the use of theorems, weird exercises in which you are supposed to figure out how somebody got from point A to the end of the problem. Doing this, you find the steps they took to reach some conclusion. I barely held on in that class.
I have no idea how all of this works.
Flash forward once again to junior year of college. Logic. Started out great. I can do syllogisms in my sleep. They’re easy, they make sense. Oh wait, what’s this? Symbolese? This strange not even language but way of translating English into lines and dots on a chalkboard? Those are supposed to mean something? And then throw in the already impossible theorems and we had a recipe for disaster. I stopped. There was no wrapping my head around it.
Now I’m in Statistics. Oh my god, it all makes sense. There are actual numbers. They have actual formulas. You don’t have to figure out how you got a right triangle’s angles using a strange process of rules. You just do it.
I rocked the test I took this morning. Absolutely rocked it. The only thing I’m shaky on is percentiles (figuring out what the 90th percentile of some normal distribution is) but I’ve not done it wrong yet, so hopefully it was just math nerves coming back to haunt me.
I’ll let you know when I get it back, hopefully soon, but I’ve got a great feeling about this.
In other news, happy Ash Wednesday to all celebrating Catholics. (Do other Christians do Ash Wednesday too? Probably, so if you’re one of them, you’re included too.) It’s funny how I always want to apply Catholic tradition to every Christian and I completely forget that not every Christian is a Catholic.
Also, I’ve completely forgotten the difference between big C catholicism and little c so please forgive me if I’ve committed a grave capitalization error.
There are some things in live that could only happen to me. Adopting a cat with AIDs and cancer is something that probably has a .308% chance of happening. Well, the little lump I found on cat is possibly cancer. The shelter is going to take the lump out for free (thank god) and then biopsy it and let me know. Here’s hoping that it’s not cancer, not only because I can’t afford to go through cat cancer treatment but also because he’s only three and he has AIDs already.
So Friday morning, bright and early, I’m venturing to the low-income spay/neuter clinic on the south side to drop him off. Then I’ll come home, go to class, go back down and pick him up. Poor little guy. He’s not going to be happy about it. I’m not entirely pleased about the situation either.
He’s sleeping with his paws over his eyes right now. I’m still in love. He’s a quirky little cat and he fits right in, I think.
Ending thought for my day: Why is it that when something doesn’t go your way, you’ll go out of your way to get your side of the story out?
I’ve been silent for more than two months about the breakup. It’s been a nasty, drawn-out, disgusting affair. I’ve said very little, both to him and publicly. I’ve not responded to the accusations that I’m….well, they’re not quite fit for your eyes. I’m sick of it. The truth is subjective. I’m sure that everyone is sick of hearing about it, I for one am.
I’ve been belittled, harassed, embarrassed and I want it to stop.
I want to move home to Colorado where I don’t have to hear endless lists of my inadequacies daily.
I swear, I’m not a bad person. I just wasn’t in love anymore; I hadn’t been present in the relationship for nearly six months. I didn’t want to get married. I didn’t want to be attached to something that wasn’t parallel with what I want to be. My dreams are different.
Of the lighter of the accusations, he accused me of being lazy, of not working. You’re right. I’m a student. I’m not working right now (this is one of the rare times since I turned 16 I haven’t held a steady job). I do babysit though when I can and care work is legitimate work. I’m trying to get into graduate school.
I have a five year plan. I have a five year back up plan. I want to start saving for retirement. I’m willing to give up the dream of writing to pay my bills.
Someday, I want a family. I want a strong father figure for my children, not one that I can’t trust to pull his weight in the family (not even necessarily financially, but in nurturing/care-giving as well).
I want a mature adult relationship, not one that can’t withstand a night out or a serious talk about the future. I want adventure, travel, good conversation and shared goals. I want someone who makes me want to be the best person I’m capable of being. I want someone to love me with all of my weird quirks and lame stories. I also need someone who won’t judge me for biting my nails or smelling the milk before I drink it even if it’s before the expiration date.
Don’t think I won’t wait for it, either.
I’m smart enough.
I’m strong enough.
I’m devoted enough.
I’m pretty enough.
I’m clever enough.
I’m funny enough.
I’m kind enough.
I’m generous enough.
I’m classy enough.
I’m good enough.
I’m good enough for anyone.
I’m better than that, I deserve better than that.
And goddammit, I will find it.
ha, this post is going to come off as really self-obsessed or strangely desperate somehow, but I needed it. It’s been starting to wear me down, emotionally. That felt really good.