So, I had an algebra test Monday. I'm not good at math. I need math to be an architect. this is called a "problem". So, i did the only thing I know how to do in situations like that. I waited until the day before the test, and then started studying like a madman. The festivities began about 10 Sunday morning, the test was looming at me from 3PM monday, and i still hate math. So, i upped my meds (yae, amphetamines!) and commenced to a-study'n. Beginning with chapter one and basic algebra, I chewed, clawed, fought, cussed, and occasionally cried my way into the fiery depths of my math book. And lo! Somewhere in the chaos the tide of battle did shift. The seas did part, the demons did flee, and I was victorious! In practically no time at all, I had made it through chapter the first! Giddy with glee, I checked the clock on the wall, and lo! the time was midnight.
OK, so there went the giddy, right out the fucking window. See, the class has been going on for a few months, and the class was up to chapter 4, as was the test itself, doubtlessly. Now, even thought i'm not good at math, i was pretty sure that one chapter every 14 hours was not going to result in any joy at all at test time. What followed ... shall not be spoken of. But i will say that it involved panic, sweat, a little blood, much coffee, truly unwise amounts of amphetamines, and a few hasty bargains with certain representatives of the dark lords who prefer to remain nameless for tax purposes. The short (and pg rated) version is that by noon, I had managed to catch up with the rest of the class, at the mysterious and greatly feared chapter 4. An hour later, i finished the chapter quiz, and found that i apparently had rather more than a bit of competence. So i put together a formula sheet of incredibly tiny font, and realized i was done preparing.There was a quick shower, another round of chemical assistance, and before i knew it, i was dragging my pale, sweaty, and noticeably raccoon-eyed carcass through the halls of learning toward the moment of truth. I thunked into my desk, and waited, not nearly as relaxed as I would have like to have been. The professor arrived, said "hi", and proceeded to inform the class that, due to the recent hurricanes and the havoc they had created, he was postponing the test until the following week.
but.... but .... b-!
I didn't know whether to sniffle and sob, or throw him out a window. ...
So class was had, and new topics and immoral, sometimes even positively downright Amoral convolutions of numbers and letters, with some arcane symbols thrown in for spice, and i braced myself for the usual confusion and dull, focus less resentment and sense of personal shame that usually comes with math class. But the expected befuddlement did not arrive. After a few seconds of shocked disbelief, I realized that I actually (understood) the damned fool gibberish he was babbling... I'm not sure what this means, or if it'll last beyond the next class... but from what I saw that day, ... ::gulp:: I think I may actually be "good" at math.
More later, when this makes some kind of sense, or at least politely pretends to.