I hate variables

Don't throw a variable my way. While it may set me off course, it will certainly make me just a wee bit irritable.


By now, some of you might have caught wind that math was never my strongest subject. Algebra especially presented me with more challenge than I could take, and if not for extra help after school and pursuing an enormous amount of pity from goodhearted teachers, I might still be stuck in a hell of augmented matrices and quadratic formulas.


Looking back, I get why I was better at some subjects than others. English was the most natural, with writing as my strength and an inherent love of the printed word. Social Studies? No problem. History is a series of dates and memorable people, geography involves maps (ooooh, pretty colors!), and current events are, well, current. And relevant. Science was a pain, especially chemistry and physics, because they involve math. Give me biology and I'm fine. As long as a frog isn't singing the Rainbow Connection, I have no qualms about performing a dissection.

However, ask me to calculate the velocity of a comet, or to calculate anything more complex than a batting average, and I was screwed.


See, math and all math related subjects try to trick you. They send variables your way in the form of x's and y's and unknowns and aaaahhhhhhhh! They take you out of your comfort zone, and while there may be a definite answer to most mathematical problems, I usually got lost and had a breakdown somewhere on the path to the correct bubble on the answer sheet.


I get it. It's the way that I'm built. I don't like things that throw me out of my comfort zone or take me away from my much cherished routine. There's nothing particularly unique about my own routine, but it's mine and you can't have it. I need sleep, a reasonable amount of production during the day, a hearty laugh or two, a trip to the gym, some time to let my brain decompress, enjoying time with Megan, to watch Jeopardy, and to eat some sort of ice cream derivative. That, to me, is a wonderful day.


But any time something throws me off my course, I get bothered. And right now, my variable comes in the way of a stomach bug. I'll spare you the details, suffice to say I still feel a little bit weak and a whole lot cranky. Actually, cranky is the wrong word. Frazzled describes me at this particular moment.


Having a stomach bug means that I haven't eaten much these past few days. The bonus: if I weighed in right now, I'd have passed the 60 pound goal with room to spare. The downside: I can't go to the gym out of fear that I'll pass out on the treadmill and the belt will keep running, essentially sanding away my face as I lay unconscious in heap (points for dramatic effect!).


I hate this feeling. This morning, despite all logic and the fact that I took a sick day on Monday, I actually packed a gym bag, hopeful that by the end of the work day, my body would be magically ready for some push-ups and crunches. Now, as I feel a little loopy merely from typing at a keyboard, I realize that Megan is right and maybe today isn't the best day to start rock climbing.


I've always been this way, a servant to my routine and frazzled at anything that forces me to do differently. In a way, I'm sure that anal retentiveness to routine is one of the reasons of succeeded in Weight Watchers: you eat something, you write it down, and it gets incorporated into your everyday lifestyle. Makes sense for someone like me.


Yet, here I have a variable, and that familiar algebra class anxiety is seeping in. Maybe I just need a good nap. Maybe it's my body telling me to slow down a bit. And without a doubt, I need to get over being physically sick and mentally unhinged over inability to exercise. I feel like at any second there's going to be a pop quiz and my TI-83 is nowhere to be found.


Maybe by tomorrow afternoon I'll be back on the arc. Or maybe asleep in front of the gym entrance. I'll take all wagers as they come.