The Wild Goose

 

Having a relationship with mathematics, as a heavily left-brained individual, is an interestingly intense experience. On the one hand, there is this tangled web of heated passions against it -- frustration, anger, hopelessness, powerful resistance -- that all too often lead me to tears. Then there is this magic about it when the problem is finally solved, a wonderful feeling of not only relief, but excellent satisfaction, because you know, there is one and only one answer. It can be so straight-forward, and in this sense, for a highly creative and inventive person, this sort of order can actually prove remarkably rewarding. I say this in spite of the push-pull, love-hate of it all.

Much akin to my own experiences in romance. The oscillation of all oscillations. Good God. Valentine's Day?? How about a fever of 102 and you STILL have to go to work. Valentine's Day.... is treating myself to a cheeseburger from The Majestic... that greasy, golden goodness. And while I'm at it, I'll take a large chocolate shake please, with whipped cream.

I don't need to make my countless, almost daily reflections on love and loss a holiday. Instead I will convert it into love for food and long naps. Just for the hell of it. Sometimes it's just too irristible to not be contrary.

On a (not so) heavily related note...
Woke up this morning and read all about Charlotte Turner Smith. What an incredible woman. She helped build the foundation for what would become the romantic period for poetry and writing... inspiring other more well-known writers such as Wordsworth (a personal favorite!) and Colerige. She was forced to marry a terrible man who she actually sat IN debtors jail with because the bloke wouldn't pay the bills, wrote two novels while she was in there with him, and bore ten of his children. Later, she would publicly denounce her father for forcing her into the arranged marriage, by the claim that he had turned her into a "legal prostitute"... of course, women were not suppose to marry for love, and certainly not have passionate, love-ridden sex (hmm, could that count as a pun?). Big no-no.

She sounds like my kind of woman. In fact, if I have a daughter one day, I just might name her Charlotte. And on an equally random note... I think I'd nickname her Charlie. Maybe.

Did you know that there is actually prozac for cats??! Apparently so. After $300 in diagnostic exams to find out what's wrong with Moonpie -- she has been starving herself for over a month now (I asked her if it was religious fasting, but she said no) -- I was left with a diagnosis of Feline anxiety disorder and inappropriate urination. Prescription: Daily half dose of Prozac. Yes, it truly is as ludicrous as it sounds.... but if it gets her to eat and use the litter box again, I certainly wont complain. Now, the three hundred dollar vet bill for virtually nothing, I may indeed complain about.

In my next life, I'd like to have a live-in maid. I shall make sure to check that box on my sheet before the next incarnation occurs.

Today's music selection: Antonin Dvorak; Piano Concerti in G minor.
Elvis Perkins, from the Ash Wednesday album -- "While You Were Sleeping"