Overactive Imagination.

Reveling in the digital cable, I ordered the movie Proof while I was home. Gwyneth Paltrow, Jake Gyllenhall, Anthony Hopkins and math. Good movie, I thought. I'm a sucker for the whole academic thing. Jake Gyllenhall the mathematician? Did funny things to my little horn dog heart. Actually, it wasn't even that it was Jake Gyllenhall, just that he was a PhD student, doing math.

I'll be straight with you. Me and math? Kind of don't get along. Like, we used to be friends but that ended in grade 11. I used to be brilliant and I can memorize formulas (formulae?) like nobody's business but I always make stupid mistakes with positives and negatives and, really, all the other elements that go into a successful answer.

I really wish I was better. I've said it before, I'd be a physicist if I was any good at math. Theoretical physics books used to be part of my recreational reading. I used to plague my father with things that I'd read about and found amazing, like the relative mass of a neutron star or the concept of dark matter or theories about wormholes or something. He'd play along halfheartedly, just like I do when he talks about cars or airports or Steven Segal movies.

Anyway.

Have concocted an elaborate fantasy involving me and a mathematician. Kind of faceless, I'm not good imagining faces, but I know he has glasses. I'm CRAZY for glasses. In my mind he works on math problems and I write random history papers and we wander around some campus in Autumn and we drink a lot of coffee and have a lot of sex.

Okay, maybe not that elaborate.