Corrently I'm supposed to be writing a paper about matrices. Of course, writing down things that are obvious to me (only because I've been steeped in the theory for nigh on six months now) in a way that makes people gain both understanding and self-esteem (the true goal of any writer is to make the reader feel good about themself)...is not easy. Nor is it especially stimulating (with rare exceptions).
Here I sit, then, alone in my office. Type type type. Do not pity me, for it's Better Than A Real Job. It's ostensibly my dream. I suppose with every dream there comes a reality which is never the same, for when we dream we're not practising prediction but hope.
So I keep plugging away, safe in the knowledge that "I have perspective!". The mental acrobatics I perform to convince myself that I, in fact, LOVE typing and retyping this definition so that a chimpanzee could understand it, but a genius doesn't feel like I'm talking down to him. I can't please everybody, but I'm asked to. So I will just try my best, once again safe in the knowledge that in "perspective", I'm actually not that bad at it. Or rather, that I'm lucky enough to have English as my native language.
I gotta get back to work