Ah the bliss of waking up this morning, feeling all clean and cosy, in fresh jammies and clean sheets, snug and warm with snow outside and the knowledge that it’s seven o’clock so I don’t have to get up for another hour. And when I do, and I walk through to the kitchen, it will also be clean, and there will be water enough to fill the coffee machine (taps working or not – I has twenty-five litres stored now!) and life is just utterly Splendid.
Yeah, okay, so the water was off for twenty-four whole hours, which isn’t exactly the end of the world, but it was enough to make me vastly more grateful than usual for it Not being off. It has also made me rather uncomfortably aware of the gaping hole in my provision for large-scale disasters. [Would that be the one where you live in the largest conurbation in Scotland? – Ed].
I spent an hour enjoying the silence and dozing daydreaming about having a cute bloke sharing the bed, but eventually he started saying things like, Why don’t you get cracking on chapter three of the engineering module while I make coffee and pancakes, which we can eat together while watching the snow fall? and I realised it was time to give him some rather more Realistic dialogue. Which, based on an aggregate of previous boyfriends, would statistically consist of, Where’s breakfast? No, I want something fried. Don’t tell me you don’t have anything in, I only came over last night because my fridge is empty. Don’t you have any good underwear? You don’t spend a lot on clothes, do you? Did anyone ever tell you, you look terrible in the morning? …Oh so what did I say now?
The imaginary ones are not just more polite, they are so much easier to get rid of! All you have to do is open your eyes…
Also, the figment of my imagination was right, it was indeed time to get up and get cracking on chapter three. Right, here we go: finding ‘second moment’ of area of a cross-section of a beam. For reasons I sure hope will become clear later on.
And so passed a very pleasant morning, as the snowfall went from a few gentle flakes to a big flurry that nearly blocked out my view of the park (I am still amazed by how much warmer the south side of the flat is! Two years, I’ve been keeping so much to my room, which is on the north side of course, that I never even noticed!)
Then I thought, maybe I should go do another good deed for the neighbours, and did I not promise my Colleague of Cakes I’d nip into Homebase and see if they had white soap dishes? They did. They also had cheap shovels, which was odd, I thought they’d be utterly sold out. But there it was, I have a shovel; so now I have to shovel snow with it.
It was not too bad – not like last year, where we only tried to make a path once the whole place had already turned into an icerink, so we had to batter the ice apart with the thin edges of the shovels and depressingly slow going it was too. And my arms vibrated for hours afterwards. This time, I just shoved it all out the way, and a lassie came out from the next block and made a path that linked up with mine, and we salted them and stood back to admire our work… and realised we could barely see it because the snow was back on and falling thick enough to curtain off the world. Balls.
Oh well, back to the equations!
They were going really well, too, until I checked the answers. Ah. I am not even a little bit wrong, here. So I stopped to help cart the ASDA delivery up. Bwahaha, I now have fifty litres of water, thus ensuring the pipes never run dry again, because then I would look really prepped, rather than like a paranoid idiot. Also, I think I can make loaves until the end of the Mayan calendar without having to go shopping again.
I made the traditional Quick, Phonecalls Are Free call to my Chestnut-haired Old Mother to make sure she had not frozen to death (she now has heat again, yay) and confirm that I have not died of dehydration myself (nope, despite the best efforts of the fake Irish Cream). Then Cake made the same traditional call and we bitched about maths together, plus the fact that we utterly failed to learn any at school. Well, at least I wasn’t forced to resort to spending my breaks chasing the maths teacher all over the place to try and get the remedial lessons I was promised; mine just looked at me and said he despaired.
What were the point of quadratic equations, anyway, I never did get that explained? I griped. I mean, if we had some sort of idea of what we were aiming for, that would have been a bit of an incentive, but as far as I could tell, the idea was that if you did enough quadratic equations then you got to stop, which isn’t quite the inspiration they were probably going for.
I think they were for parabolas, said Cake. But neither of us still have any idea what you do with your parabola once you’ve caught it. And neither of us are quite sure how a rainbow works, it turns out. I mean, they’re basically an optical illusion, right, so presumably they didn’t technically exist before colour vision did, and dogs can’t see them at all – not even as a bunch of grey bands across the sky. At least Cake’s got the excuse of being a trained historian; I’m sure this sort of thing is supposed to be something I mastered at some point.
On the plus side, I have worked out where the current maths disaster is going wrong, and it has to do with the total area of a Shape divided into smaller shapes being the same, no matter how you work it out, but depth cubed is going to be radically different depending on how you broke down the Big Shape. I have therefore only to divine the One True Way of dividing up the Big Shape, and I should be sorted (though by that point, I will probably have forgotten what I was supposed to do next). It will be an Adventure! I will have to contact my tutor (and various other tutors, if I can find any) and ferret out online resources! Like a Grail Quest! I Will prevail!
Tomorrow, I will prevail; because I’m gonna have to leave horribly early in the morning in case all Glasgow is one big ice-rink, so bed beckons. Well, all the bits of Glasgow that make up my walk, anyway.
I really never thought I would be be spending most of the chronicles of nonsense bollocking on about maths.