It's late at night and Olivia wants to post something, but she's not sure what.
And she's not sure she wants to talk in third person either. She was going to write this post in first person, but she's written so many third person posts lately she lapsed into it without thinking.
So I am going to write in fourth person instead.
Wow, it really is late.
My little slip-up leads to a deep, philosophical state of ponderment, however. But it is too late to get into such a state of ponderment, because my brain might melt down. So I'll save that thought for later.
Anyway, I wanted to post, but since I don't have anything particularly intriguing at the moment that I would like to share with the world, I'm just going to spout whatever's on my mind.
Like math. Oi. Every time I warm up to it, it bites me. But it's not math I have a problem with, really. It's the approach society takes to it. Math the way God designed it = squee. People tinkering with math to make it as boring and tedious as possible to teach = snore.
And yes, I did find a math course that I like better than everything else I've tried, and that is largely compatible with my puny, wonky little mind. I think they do make a strong effort to make math not boring and tedious. But I still have qualms about how it's presented. But then, I would completely reform education if I had my way. This is an unschooler talking, after all.
Speaking of which, I've only recently come to the realization that I am pretty much categorizable as an unschooler. But that is a topic for another post, because my brain's a little melted after all that talk about math.
I realize how much I miss blogging when I haven't done it in a while. There's something thrilling about staying up past your bedtime to rant about the tedium of manmade mathematics to the whole world... or at least the little portion of it that happens to stumble across this place.
Which actually isn't such a little portion. I've had readers from China, Egypt, Brazil, Russia, the Ukraine, and a whole bunch of other places I can't think of right now just in the past month. It's rather humbling to think of the audience I'm reaching. I read recently that blogging is a ministry. I hadn't really thought of it that way--especially a blog with such silly tendencies as this one--but I guess it is. And that renews my vigor. We'll just have to see how much time I can carve from my day--or week--and how quickly I can sprint-write a post therein*. But no guarantees that you'll be seeing more posts or anything, because this blog doesn't need to be any drabblier than it already is.
Oh, and get this: someone found this place in a search for phagocytosis.
That's pretty awesome.
Which brings me to science. Ah, my beloved** from whom I have so long been parted.
I am, in case you skipped the somewhat lengthy welcome on the right (or the tab at the top), just a little obsessed with anything scientific. (Actually, I experience physical and mental withdrawal symptoms when I don't do science. My friends say I need intervention.) Science, therefore, monopolizes my time just a little bit. (Last year, for nine and a half weeks, all I did besides read my Bible was study biology. I didn't read novels or watch movies. I didn't practice piano as much as I should have. I didn't mindlessly surf the internet, and I scarcely communicated with my friends. I ate and slept only so I could live to do more biology.) Therefore, I must take precautions so that I have a life outside of science (hard as the thought is to bear). This involves banning myself from chemistry for extended periods so that I may take the time necessary to tend to my other subjects (and friendships). The thought is to use science as a reward when I've been thoroughly productive in other areas. And I have been, but I'm not very good at giving myself rewards when I deserve, so I have long been parted from my beloved.
But I won't continue to bore you with my woes. It's bedtime for Olivia. And there I go, lapsing in the third person again.
What is fourth person? I shall go to bed with this thought.
*As I have lamented before, I am a painstakingly (I just typed painstalkingly, and since it's 11pm I found that quite amusing) slow writer. Not a slow typist, necessarily--I can type 77 words a minute, which is a whole lot slower than a friend of mine but from what I father--er, gather; excuse the late-night typographical errors--that's not too shabby for us normal people.
**I just wrote belobed, and I'm feeling the need to record each typo right now.