I'm a slow learner, whether it's PI, the Golden Ratio, Fibonacci or Calculus, I'm bound to struggle with squiggles. One of my grandsons was riffing comfortably on maths, adding cubed numbers to cubed numbers as we watched endless episodes of "Young Sheldon". I was catching up and nodding uncomfortably with the series and the emerging digits. Numbers are the centre of everything but to me sometimes they are just like blinking lights or strange anagrams without any letters.
Perhaps I suffer from an undiagnosed condition; a bizarre mixture of lack of attention, self pity and generational ignorance? It's quite the fashion these days and it often excuses you from all kinds of socially tricky situations where happy chat and vacuous smiling are required. I'm no Einstein but I am just about as crazy as he was.
Now that I'm over 66 and finding myself in fairly regular contact with medics and the like I could just throw myself on their mercy and ask for an assessment of my brain's processing power. Then as the results appear and the fickle finger points, my whole life will make sense and they'll prescribe a course of non-nuclear statins, some dietary moderation and one of those Zen colouring books.
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