Failed Misanthropy (Part 6: Marisol)

It's the procedure.

Likely.                     Probably.                        Maybe?

I could tell she was unsure.

Someone had just asked how or why she could like this "stuff".

She really couldn't explain,

Didn't know how to articulate her feelings.

So...

She uses numbers, symbols, rules.

Because that is where she feels safe.

That is where she feels sure.

That is where she feels challenged.

Comparatively,

Literary analysis feels like divining the future from runes.

There was nothing more mind-numbing than reviewing the ideologies of old dead guys.

Frankly,

the numbers,

the theorems,

they all made sense.

She could get from point A to point B with no interruptions in between.

Calculation,

after iteration,

after derivation,

after proof,

there is some unifying logic,

some ultimate qualified truth.

She knows the only reason she's any good at language

is because of all the grammatical rules.

She dreams she could convey that to her parents.

She only wishes everyone else thought it was cool.