On a Bleak Tuesday
The most annoying thing for a Mathematician is not having a clue. When you have the courage to call yourself a Mathematician at any point in your academic career, you really expect everything to flow as water flows. You expect to know how to solve things. After all, you are a problem solver.
So am I.
But this morning, I cannot claim to have been the best problem solver you will ever stumble across. I failed to have a clue of a problem I have been trained to solve. All that went through my mind at a time when I was supposed to be thinking of Bessel’s equations and Neumann’s contributions was some kind of social event that would make me happy. Just anything that could make me happy. As a result, I was not able to predict this projectile of sadness that was rocketing at me with all the vigour as if it was aided by Newton’s gravitational discoveries. I was sitted there seeing the biggest cause of my stomach ulcers rebuke me, provoke me and intimidate me. As a matter of fact, a vast population of my brain cells was not doing what it has been trained to do – solving problems – but rather doing what it is not trained to do – thinking of happiness and ending up sad -.
End of story with Mathematical, cellular and what have you vocabulary.
So, I am happy, anyway. I am happy because, I woke up at half-an-hour to my lecture and was delighted to be late for 7 mins. The delight was that the lecturer (assuming she hadn’t dictated any notes prior to my arrival) had only a small amount of written notes on the board for me to jot down. I scribbled, actually. But the girl in front of me was drawing this ‘artsy’ sexy images of a bird flying and so, this made me feel at peace. talk about cheap thrills.
Food. We all like food except those who don’t like food. For me, at the moment, it is not just the liking of food that is motivating me. It is hunger.
As aformentioned, I woke up quite a few minutes to my lecture and that said, food did not exist anywhere in my gannt chart for those few minutes. It is at this point that I do revert to my old school tactics of save-a-third-year fund that would ensure that those academically younger than me understandably take care of my confused enzymes. Whether this fund will raise anything or not, this is a different story. Different in that, it actually won’t. Sad story. Period. I think I should go home and cook and eat.
I am off!
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