The Math is the Math

I’m not very good at math, except when I think about it, I’m actually good at it. I guess saying “I’m not good at it” is a thing to say about a thing that can be difficult and feels like the first time you realize that work is hard and you’re only in 3rd grade and the overhead lights are so bright - sitting in little rows of little desks with big windows to my right. On the other side of those windows - a place called the playground, and I’d rather be out there. Doesn’t it seem like there is always something better just on the other side (except when things are really good - then you don’t think about the playground on the other side of the windows [but they aren’t always really good]). Anyway, I did the math and I’m definitely going to die. Ok, not tomorrow, but someday (maybe tomorrow). Thank god I met her and she poured so much light. Running and running and running to get here? If I hadn’t run that road I would have run another. Thank God I was running with her. And I don’t like it when people say “it was like a dream” because it’s a thing to say about a thing that can be difficult. Besides, I can’t remember my dreams, at least not in their entirety. I only remember bits and pieces leaving me with tiny feeling pictures.

The other day I was traveling down the middle of the street and there were so many vacuum cleaners, people in robes and glass on the pavement; apparently somebody was so mad at all the car windows that they ran and ran and ran down the street and broke the car windows one after another. And that is what my dreams are like the next day - pieces of broken glass on the street; beautiful sparkly and confusing, left there to be cleaned up. So what do people mean when they say: “it was like a dream”- are they saying it’s a broken confusing messed up wacky mystery mess of fragments on the ground in the morning?