I LOVE SCHRODINGER'S CAT.

At least, I think I do.
Or do I?
I'm not too sure.

When I was younger I thought nothing of it. I talked to myself, imagined weird things and wrote stories. Nothing so weird for a nine year old. At seventeen it's a bit different.

I know other people like me, but it doesn't seem so weird on them.
It seems like I have too many thoughts in my head, and none of them make any sense. The thought of picking up the computer mouse and throwing at him, the thought of laughing maniacally at something completely unfunny, the thought of making friends with a stranger. I lie awake at night thinking of conjugated verbs, integrated sine functions, and suitable adjectives.

I've been wondering for a while why I'm like this, and why other people find it funny, and why no one else thinks like that. And I reached a conclusion:

I will never know.

But I won't stop trying. That's what I like. I look at other people, who are so content to go through life, sleeping late and doing their work and answering questions without wondering WHY? Why is it that the natural logarithm of x differentiates to 1/x? What is it about the word the word fateful that gives it a negative connotation, when it holds so much positive imagery? What's a gyroscope? What's the Karnaugh map? Sierpinski's triangle game? The correctly conjugated form of s'assesoir in the first person indicative?

I can't understand it. I don't understand why one wouldn't want to know these things. I don't get why you would be content to learn about Shakespeare without understanding it. I don't understand how you could use Alice in Wonderland as a stimulus (not meaning to offend, Megs) without knowing it. I don't really know why you would read a book and NOT look up the words you don't know.
It's not that I expect everyone to understand everything. I certainly don't. But I couldn't sit back without questioning.
How could I not shiver at the mere thought of limiting equilibrium? At standing in the balance, on the edge of something I couldn't fathom. A slip, a pull, a fall? And this is maths! This is A-level maths! And the philosophy of it baffles me. Why is something like that not the same as the chaos theory? Why is it not the same as the butterfly effect? The pendulum effect?

I think, therefore I am. If I ceased to wonder, I would no longer be. Or no longer be me. I'm not so sure. But other people manage. I heard someone today (I shall not mention who) who was telling a friend they were behind on their coursework even though they were only taking two subjects. FTW? How? What he/she must spend his/her time doing is beyond me. If it was something productive like writing or reading or something other than drinking and taking certain narcotics (which I assume is the case), I wouldn't mind. I deem spending all night on the internet as a pretty productive past time. I deem spending days making origami cranes as productive. But, let's be honest, is that happening?
I doubt not.
I don't think you have to particularly clever to wonder. You just have to have your eyes open. Is it not common sense, general knowledge that Africa is not one SINGULAR country? Why, then, are there still 18-year-old girls who are not aware it's a fucking CONTINENT.

There was much more I was going to get onto. Philosophically, I could have drabbled on for hours. But that would make a pretty boring and/or confusing blog. But I was just sitting here, thinking, wondering. And I thought I'd share these thoughts with you.

This is not snobbery, I would like to point out. I am genuinely questioning a lack of enthusiasm. When the world is so exciting, how can we ignore it?

So there you go. My blog of reflection. Think on it? I think I do. I think this is why I don't sleep. I think this is why I cry when someone breaks their glasses. I really can't handle broken glasses. Kills me. But I would rather have my hyperactive, child-of-four-fed-pixie-sticks brain, than a languid, lazy one.

(btw, Sierpinski's triangle game? FASCINATING. Take a look.)

Further reading/watching:

The Moth Diaries
Justin Case
The Science of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials
The Science of Sleep
The Number Devil

“Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the things you can think up if only you try!”- Dr Seuss

How To Survive A Family Meal
when it's not your family.

I'm not quite sure how much more of going to eat at the restaurant I can take. I gets worse every week.


Week 1: Not too busy, forced to eat far too much, and have a starter of Brie. Ew.

Week 2: Seated in the middle of the restaurant. Busy. Complete and utter humiliation, degradation and loneliness.


Week 3: Well...
I'd pretty much resigned myself to my fate. I had it all planned out- I'd go in, deal with the usual humiliation of the table for one, refuse a starter and a dessert and leave as fast as possible. Unfortunately, that wasn't on the agenda, apparently.
I knew it was bad as soon as I got there and I saw how busy it was. And not with just anyone. Hamid, the owner, had brought in his entire family for a lovely meal, including his beautiful daughter, wonderfully named (as everyone cared to point out) Yasmin. To be honest, she seemed quite nice. But I must say, she did not look Iranian. Not at all.
My dad, being so fabulously sensitive to my emotions, paraded me, in all my ragged finery, around their table, so I had to shake hands and smile sweetly at a million people who I will never remember.
That wasn't all.
Matthew, the other manager, has HIS family round, because it was his birthday. And because of his wife, Khatuna, half of them were Georgian. I was paraded round them too. They looked pretty confused.
I sat down at my table, but Matthew (who had had a few by this time, let's be honest) was all "NO NO, YOU SIT WITH US" except in his Australian accent. So there I was, sat at a table full of people speaking rapid Georgian, waiting for my food, Matthew chattering in my ear.
Then Khatuna brought they're 3 month old baby over and passed him to me. "YOU HOLD HIM AND I TAKE PICTURE", Oh God, Oh God. I do not know what to do with babies. He's adorable, but I was so afraid. I really like Khatuna and Matthew and so I was worrying so much. All I could think was "Oh, god, I'm going to break your baby". Luckily, they took him away before I could. But not before they could snap an awful picture of me.

The Georgians sang. It was amazing, actually. They have beautiful voices. One of them kept toasting anything and everything (I think he just liked to drink.
"To our countries!"
"To the children!"
"Who died!" It took me a while to realise he was trying to toast to dead relatives.

See the thing is, I really like everyone at the restaurant. They're very friendly people. There's Matthew, who kept trying to pour me some wine when my dad wasn't looking (never mind my protests that I didn't drink) and the Iranian chef who was horrified that I couldn't speak Farsi, and there's the really sweet Italian guy who calls me darling ("Here you go, darling.", "You want another drink, darling?"). It's not them I begrudge. It's my dad. Why does he subject me to such humiliation on a weekly basis? Can he not see how embarrassing it is to be a seventeen year-old girl who comes into a classy restaurant, sits alone, eats alone and then just leaves silently. And yeah, this week, I wasn't by myself. But honestly, when I was surrounded by the singing Georgians and the drunk Australians, I've never felt more alone.

"Time away is all I need." -Denali