A Letter to Arithmetic

Dear Math,

I don't like you, and I never have. I often ask God himself why, on earth, would he ever have allowed you to come into existence. I equate you alongside mosquitoes. To me, you are disease ridden and blood sucking. You take the sun from my sky and the blood from my vein, and for that, I don't like you.

But I do respect you, as paradoxical as that may seem. I have no choice but to admire you. You're so consistently neutral about everything! It's like you haven't a care in the world, and maybe on some level I envy that, and so I respect you, but not enough to do much with you except use you for your talent, and then leave you, as far from my mind as possible. The only thing we have between us, math, is physical.

I don't want a reunion. When I left you in grade 11, I left you for good, and I won't ever go back. There were too many late nights and too many early mornings. There was too much stress and too much damn WORK in our relationship, and for that I won't forgive you. Sure, people said we were good together, but they didn't know how I truly felt. So no, I don't want to get back together with you, I like our arrangement the way that it is.

Cold.

Hard.

Calculating. Just the way you like it.

We'll see who wins in the end of this little relationship. You never had any love for me, let's face it, and now I'm just returning the favor.

Sincerely not yours,
blog.alan.schram