You see, somehow, through some twisted cosmic intervention, I am tutoring a girl in sixth grade math. Me. Sixth grade math.
I have a complicated relationship with math. My parents were always very set on it's importance. They spent many hours trying to convince us that we had natural talent at the subject, and Claire and I spent many hours figuring out new hiding places for the flash cards they'd try to make us do. Any success we had with math--a fair amount of it, I might add--really has to be attributed to my mother. It helps that she's a genius, but it's really that she would sit down with us no matter what the hour, and by GOD we were going to finish that problem sheet even if it kills us.
She got me through 1st grade subtraction and 11th grade calculus. Not many moms can help their kids with calculus, but mine can. Totally feminista, right?
Anyway, I decided that math was dead to me the moment I found out that IC accepted my calc and stat AP credits. Then, suddenly, I needed to remember how to do simple things like divide decimals.
Needless to say I felt rusty. I could feel the cogs in my brain churning. It was unpleasant. I think every little wrinkle in my brain was screaming, "What is this crap? Give us more theory! We like theories! Let's structure a paper instead! PLEASSSEEEE?!"
But no. We had to finish that workbook, even if it killed us.
Once the session was up, though, I wandered brain-dead into the kitchen and started brewing coffee...mainly because its currently illegal for me to consume anything more appropriate.
