Rebecca's PenThe creative works of R.E.W.

About R.E.W

I am author, artist, history buff, wishing to share these three passions of mine with anyone who cares to read this blog. The main drive between these three deep interests of mine is imagination.

History isn't just people and events in a dusty book. Writing isn't just words in a tome. Art isn't just random images in a photograph, sketch or painting. I'll give you examples of what they really are.

Yep. That’s right. Being feverish, I mean. It’s one of those days (emphasize those) when everything feels awry–in the wake of full-force ague–in archaic parlance. Headaches. Feverishness. Overall :(

And in the middle of a school week. *aww . . .*

At least I’m homeschooled. *Grins feebly* Oh, I love being homeschooled, don’t get me wrong. But that means: yes, you can lay on the couch, but you can get try to get some school done. Or carry over to the weekend. :( 😮

So there you are; the story of my life. I accomplished history reading (which was okay, since I tend to enjoy it) and math. But math . . . ohhh math. Honestly, I’ve never been on friendly terms with math. Ne-ver. NE-ver. Me and math are on terms of–*me throwing my math book into a puddle (it rained yesterday conveniently) and needing my driver’s permit so I can drive over it (accidentally)* or *giving it to my dog Olivia after soaking it in chicken broth or something so she will eat it–terribly bad, yes, but ah. math. *head on desk* or . . . *I use it for campfire fuel.  Paper is quite flammable, so there you go. I mean, my dad really could use more fuel, right, Dad? *nudges my dad* We’re going on a camping trip in April, right Dad? I can make the necessary arrangements* or better yet . . . (I’m just enjoying this too much, no?) . . . *I put it through my dad’s electric paper shredder. O the joy of watching those equations in tiny shredded form floating into a garbage can. Beautiful sight. Simply a beautiful, miraculous sight.*

Photo credit: R. E. Williams

So you get the idea? Now it is universally known that I don’t get along well with that subject. I mean, what is a writer/artist going to do with math anyways when they become an author/eminent artiste? Let’s see . . . well, maybe the author would have to count the number of sells of his bestseller or . . . an artist would have to figure out the dimensions of his piece??? o.O I don’t know, but really . . . unless you’re going into engineering or some mathematical career then I guess you’d need it. Good for you. To each his own, right? But me? Well, I guess that’s life–the life of a girl in high-school.

Anyways, today I was sitting on the couch doing math. I was doing my best at it. That is to say, the wheels in the right side of my brain were trying to slowly and sluggishly (due to fever, right–and overall sluggishness in concerns with arithmetic in general) to process the equations in the lesson while the wheels in the left side  were working their way into my hand and forming little sly ink doodles on the page where the equations were supposed to be. It happens quite often. Every day, usually. When half my brain is on the ground, wrestling with demonic math the other half is somewhere in the clouds . . . and then I have to make a mad rush for an empty spot in my math notebook to jot down a sentence for a story . . . *head on desk again* . . . or just a little face sketch, or fancy twirls and swirls and random illustrious words in the margins. My mind is just feverish with it all. Words. Art. In my opinion words and art completely overshadow math.

Just some thoughts,

Rebecca

 

 

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