I dreampt in color before I could speak. At age six, I learned the depth of survival by watching the man that slept by the dumpster at the corner store. I wrote my first insightful poem at age ten. But had I known before I was fourteen that 3.200000 was the same as 3.2, I would have had a lot less stressful childhood.
I got the abstract concept that a rich indian thought he might eat toast in church = math, but math just didn’t get me. Some time around age 38, the sense of it all dawned on me, and now I spend a good portion of my life drenched in its greater thans, sum of its parts and not equaled to’s. I’ve forgiven all math teachers for not letting me in on the secret of dropping zeros, but tell me this, what was toast doing in church anyway?
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