Hate to Love

I have to wonder why the newest and loudest voice in my head is testing me by insisting that he is a math and science genius. Actually, he prefers math, but he may just be saying that because he knows how much I HATE math. He’s really driving me crazy because I’m expecting him to wander off at any moment in some mathematical soliloquy that leaves me in a haze. Why couldn’t he be an avid reader? A poet even? A prescriptive grammarian would be better than this. I’ve just spent my quality alone time researching current high school advanced math and science requirements. So not the type I suffered through, but really excruciating, rather have my fingernails peeled off slowly one-by-one types of math and science classes. You know, for the real mathy kids that go to special mathy schools. My brain is reeling. This is the sort of crap this kid is making me suffer through.

And here is the thing about the characters I live with. I don’t like them all. This math kid, he’s kind of an ass, but I have to love him because he’s completely me twenty years ago (except not the part about being really good at math). It is very hard to listen to him and not cringe at how absolutely ridiculous I was then. Oh, the high school days – so very painful. Which makes me wonder even more about my fascination with young adult literature. Seems I’d run like hell from anything that reminded me of that horrible time, but all the voices in my head are twerpy little high schoolers dying to say something – anything. So, yeah, mostly, I’m sitting around listening to kids I’d love to hate, but have to love.