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Making Myself at Home, Maybe

Math is a humbling subject for me. I spend much of my time on the right side of the brain, where idealism and figurative language dance together along neural pathways. This, of course, leaves the gray matter on the left side of my mind-- where math and logic dwell-- looking something less than gray.

Perhaps it looks more charred, especially after tonight. I met an acquaintance from my clinical medical assistant class to study basic math skills. Having done fairly well in my last college math class, I had left the math world somewhat encouraged. Tonight, however, that little glass world was shattered wide and far. It's not that I didn't know how to add or divide fractions. I remembered that. It was that I made so many careless mistakes.

It wasn't all that frustrating, I suppose, because I felt I understood the concepts. I simply am not accustomed to the precision required by math, the lack of room for error. If the social sciences are a spacious suite with a kind old woman inviting me in for tea and cookies, math is the aged and creaky apartment room whose crotchety old landlord wants to kick me out.

Perhaps I won't be so quick to leave, however. I might make myself at home for awhile in that old man's space, snacking on fractions and warming myself by brightening formulaic fires. If not, I suppose I'll be scurrying back to that old familiar hearth where metaphors and similes kiss in flawed but fitted poetry. It's warmer there now, I know, but I think that with enough time, I could get used to this new place. I know my home right now is in the spacious suite of reading and language. Whether I choose to move more permanently into the maths and sciences is a matter that time will make clearer. What I can say with a measure of certainty, however, is that I will become increasingly transient in the next few months, roving like a traveler between two worlds. I can only guess whether those worlds will look anything like what I've imagined.

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