Pi Equals

Who gives a damn anymore! I am officially back to the days when Pi is something with 3.14 scoops of vanilla ice cream! I did it, I did it, I did it. I am DONE DONE DONE with my math requirements. Done with 1/4 of my foreign language requirements. These were the only panic attack things that originally kept me from going back to school and I've just about ridden that beast into the ground If I didn't get an "A" in my Statistics class then something went terribly wrong with my final, which I doubt. Let me tell you how great this is: we started the class with 30 people....23 people dropped.

Who is this woman I have become, the woman who literally weeped during her last math course. I have been possessed by some really kick ass nerd. At this point I almost hate to give up the math momentum, I'd like to see where this sudden Rain Man brain kick will take me. Ummmm...NOT really. But it was nice to go out on a despised subject with a bang.

So for the Lit sorts: I can't wait to finally get into my English Lit subjects again. I helped this girl with her English Lit paper on Horseman, Pass By (I asked her "where's your conclusion?". She said "Conclusion?! But the teacher didn't mention that we had to have a conclusion!" QUE?!.) As I wrote her conclusion (I know, I know), I was literally so impressed with my summary skills that I started kissing myself. I had forgotten that while writing papers, in general, sucked, I always nailed it on the conclusion. Do you think there's a job out there just for people who sum things up? I could be the official "back of the book you should really really buy me" summation writer.

I digress... Anyway, I consider this my annual moment to pat my own back. When you're up to your elbows in packing material you have to take a moment to flex your ego.

Speaking of packing:

You have those moments in dealing with men, in which they are so stereotypical you're not sure whether to laugh or cry. What are men, really, but 8 year old boys?

I have been packing for a while now. The bulk of the packing has fallen on me, because of course, I am home the most. I have plowed through this house (wondering where the HELL I have been able to store all this CRAP...it's like it materializes out of thin air). A few hours each day for a week, I've done boxes upon boxes.

I have tried to not be a little resentful, I mean I am lucky enough to just be a student, hubby is working. But this is the THIRD TIME I've had to manage the packing. First time the man got a job in Houston and had to start work early, leaving me behind to coordinate, second time when he got a job here and I stayed behind in Houston. The few boxes he ever packed, his idea of packing was upending drawers into boxes and then two weeks later saying "where the HELL is my _______"

It just sucks, packing does. But I recognize this is me being selfish and childish and that I need to get over it. However... I told the man that he needed to pack up his desk..by Sunday night. I am not touching that rat's nest. I tried to help out. I filed three months of papers he'd left on his desk and shredded 8 months of papers he'd put away to shred. I already packed all his books and binders. So Sunday...of course...he started on his desk.

First I heard him clicking on the computer mouse. "Whatcha doin'?" "ooooh, just reimaging my hard drive." *clench teeth* ok.

While I was waiting for him to get done: I cleaned out the fridge and pantry, packed up the two bathrooms and did 3 loads of laundry.

This morning, he asks me to come over to his desk. He proudly sweeps his hand towards the desk to show me his work of art. He has packed two drawers: one had his supplies in it, that were already in a plastic bin. All he had to do was snap the lid on and set it in a box. The other drawer held a box of checks and a pair of binoculars, miscell. drawer of misfit toys.

He assured me that the things that were left on his desk he just didn't have room in a box for. There are 4 empty boxes already assembled in the dining room. It took him 5 hours to pack a 2' x 2' box (10 minutes packing, 4 hrs. 50 minutes of organizing pens.)

He is VERY proud of himself.

I just smiled at him sickly...why fight it. It's genetics.

But he did take out the trash. I'm very touched.