I fought the sums and the sums won

Back to work.. for the last week before Christmas! Dun dun DUN! I am Shattered, and my brain has capsized, which just goes to show – I did not have a late night last night. Or a drunken one. Maybe it’s the cold – the frost is still standing out like thorns on every twig and blade of grass.

However, on the bright side, Dr Pleasant, or so I shall call my second consultant (I have been wracking my brain for an apt moniker, but he’s just… cheerful. Go figure. I finally got a well-adjusted one!) brought me in a bottle of Real champagne, and a purple butterflies hologram that is good for a twenty-spot at Marks and Sparks, awww! Then he gave everyone else one too. As it were. Heh, it’s not like my gift is devalued by this, but really, man! Their consultants are gonna give them stuff, and them alone! You should give me Nicer stuff!

Dear god, even my Colleague of Empty Kettles got an equal cut of the loot. I should really applaud Dr Pleasant’s democratic urges, and I do, yet I am more amused than appalled at my own mercenary ones. If I was a better person, I should hate myself rather than laughing at myself. If I was a really good person, I wouldn’t have mercenary urges at all…

On other fronts, things are not going well. for instance, this evening it was back to the Sums! Saturday’s sums turn out on closer inspection to be all wrong. Dammit, again? But there it is; they seemed to be the right order of magnitude, but I actually looked up my crib-sheet (most reluctantly, because a) I have now spent more days on this than there are questions) and b) I was scared what I would discover) and lo, a centimetre cubed becomes a metre cubed to the power of minus eight, not minus five, and I am now so colossally wrong it makes Friday’s ‘out by a magnitude of two’ look positively accurate. Why and how has this happened?
Because I don’t know how many millimetres are in a centimetre, turns out. It’s TEN, you moron! Not a hundred! Christ. Okay, I found it, I fixed it, but dear god, I am starting to doubt my fitness for existence.

In conclusion: Too dumb to live, or what.

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About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
This entry was posted in please don't fire me, the fear of all sums. Bookmark the permalink.

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