i hold a degree in mathematics, and yet consider the application therein to be among my weakest of faculties. as for why this might be, i have but one guess: my own laziness. not laziness for the sake of indolence, mind you, but laziness for the sake of enjoyment.

i love mathematics. it is among the most poetic of languages; universal, true. and yet, like most interests in my life, it falls squarely into the carousel of passions which parade through my mind, finding focus for only short bouts before the next whirls in.

and thus is my life, a fickle love story of divided interests. i find myself good at all, excellent at none. i survive only through intuition, and often waste it re-inventing the wheel.

once, in an advanced algebra class, my professor opened the semester with a joke of sorts. it involved a mathematician, a student, and a small fire, which was put out by the student with an extinguisher found on the front desk. when questioned by the administration on how he would deal with the situation if it happened again, the mathematician replied that he would locate the nearest fire extinguisher and place it on the desk, since the student had already solved the other problem.

you see, mathematicians are supposed to be good at remembering previous solutions. i am not. and so, i find myself solving and forgetting, re-solving and re-forgetting, unable to master that which i purport to be knowledgable in.