Interruption

In the past few years, I have made it a habit to slide into a state of physical and mental exhaustion after any long period of competitive math activity, regardless of how rigorous it had been, meaning this cloudiness tags along every ASMA, ILML, NSML, ICTM, and calculus test. ARML shouldn't even be considered... it is death. Some have interpreted this decline in energy as sadness or anger, but, just to clarify, I'm still mulling over every problem, so carefully constructed, wondering how clever or stupid I had been.

So when people ask me what field I want to study in college (and presumably for the rest of my life, because knowledge doesn't end, and I can't imagine ceasing to learn, which apparently, is a viable path to take), I say either "I don't know" or math. Nothing else makes me think so closely; there is no science deep enough, no language profound enough, no art beautiful enough.

The worst problem, I think, that comes from such an engrossment, is my intolerance for interruption. Although clearly evident in other spheres of my life, it is most prominent when in the middle of warmups for NSML or after a particularly taxing contest. During the former, my speech impediment is worse than French presentation freezes... that, or I speak too quickly to be comprehensible anyway. After the latter, silence is golden, duct tape is silver, and both Au and Ag suffer from inflation unprecedented by even the Panic of 1837 (sly joke here ehehe).

And disclaimer, again, I'm not that good at math, at all, as can be attested by my 90.75% BC grade, repeated failures to win FTW (irony pun), and successive failures to qualify for any math competition beyond state, or to do well in state, for that matter. Its just wonderful, much like being uninterrupted.

Additionally, I am a victim of all sorts of inertia. For one, sleep inertia snatches me from the grasps of owner-less wisdom during physics and APUSH every day. (The key to pulling all nighters, by the way, is a 2 hour nap, good food, and coffee.) I am heavy set and stomp all over the badminton court, desperate to reach a bird of which only good players think to change speed (and velocity). Forced shifts in direction and halts in a good run may subject surrounding victims to berating anger. Sometimes.

Recently, the flow of my life was interrupted, in not a rude manner, by multiple issues, some moral, a few emotional. I expected to earn straight A's. I expected to be, in fact, cruising, not easily, but with some high quality thinking and insights, through French, through chemistry, math. Even APUSH would cause me pain, a couple long nights, but give nothing less than a final grade of above 90. I was to run every day, there are no excuses not to be number one, not to be a good friend, not to talk to other people, not to fulfill every circumstance with which God presents me. SATs should have been a casual thing, and, without question, I was to maintain my body perfectly.

Interruption 1: SATs. Rarely did I see my parents so serious about anything until I began pretending to review for the SATs. For three months, I was expected to spend 2 to 4 hours critically analyzing passages and polishing grammar I had to master 3 years ago. This was okay with me; as long as I could continue to flip 20 pages a day and forget about it, the hassle was worth not working - but still, my parents continued to nag week after week, screaming for me to study harder for a college entrance exam that wasn't capable of being studied. These were times when one of the greatest disparities between me and my parents became evident - they thought studying was everything; I thought, and think, studying is nothing. Its not to say I didn't prepare for the SATs - its not that I'm trying to credit my score to my natural genius. I did spend lots of time pretending; perhaps I subconsciously picked up a couple tips (just kidding). I took two practice tests, I skimmed, although likely unconsciously, the critical reading sections of the Princeton, Barron's, and Keplon's Review. I read Hack the SATs a year ago and the morning of the exam. Truly, though, the best preparation, jokes aside, was life. Math is easy, Mr. Bey was good, and everyone should read complex literature every day.

Interruption 2: Mon garou. A subject of controversy, gossip, and inspiration, although the last could be just relative to other similar cases of the day. It is, actually, natural to accept this new wolf into life, as if praying for us is instinctual, as if time spent running is extended, not cut short or made less enjoyable. In a way, its like making a real friend with whom to be at church, math team, science bowl, but always, as if it becomes something I expect to be present, something that is meant to be there, something that I welcome to be there. It is not utilized, at least not actively, as an enhancement or detriment to our spiritual lives, but instead just becomes part of life itself.

It is, however, quickly draining the amount of time I spend talking to other people, and although the interactions are still thoughtful, still true to our friendships and exchanged understanding, they are less, or they could be deeper. It is one more thing to hide, and while this can be exhilarating, keeping secrets and closing life by compartments to selected audiences are cumbersome tasks. Many questions of priorities have presented themselves, but mostly, I have learned to let time heal and roll, to love freely, to work passionately.

Interruption 3: Health. A summer of chatting into the morning and waking before 8 am to play League of Legends has drastically altered my views of sleep. This semester, there were no more than a couple days when I slept for more than 6 hours on a weekday, although 6 hours is now my normal functioning recharge time. In the beginning of this year, however, I staved my body of even more rest, shooting between 4 and 5 hours of sleep maximum. In many bouts of hypnic jerks and falling victim to sleep inertia, I lost 5% of my physics grade to a B+ on my fluids exam, at least 10% of my grade to poor exams and lost homework in APUSH, and a hearty 21% of incompetent presentations and memorization in French. Here lies my shame, my impoverished 82%, 79%, 89%.

Of course, winter is approaching, bringing with it darkness an hour early and an irresistible desire to gain insulation. With it comes another half year of anticipated depression, already cycling relapse, which never completely healed since last May. I am tired, still, and I pray that I will be given the opportunity to choose to serve God, praise God, worship God.