There’s a few more things I haven’t disposed of yet. A collection of practice books for cello, like Popper and a pieces like Bach Cello Suites, and the stuff I use when I practice. There also seems to be emotional baggage here, something I still haven’t entirely cleared out, that lingers and habituates my thoughts.

The cello stuff. It would be me saying I’ll never go back to playing cello in the near future. I believe this is true, but haven’t come to terms with it entirely yet. There just isn’t really a point in playing cello anymore. The amount of work it would take to get as good as I want requires a lifetime of playing, and I thought I wanted to do that, alongside mathematics, and that I wanted to put in the hours because cello requires it, but I just want to get good at math. That’s really all I think about now is that all the time I spend playing cello (which is easily 6 hours a day), I could be spending on anything else math-related. Reading texts, solving problems, coming up with theories and ideas. No other hobby seems to matter anymore.

I just want to be faster at this, my rate of learning the material is so fucking slow. I’ve rationalized why: I study every core course at once. I’m trying to move a force that is much heavier, and of course will move slower, unless I become superhuman… which I’m working on.

It just feels like nothing else is really important anymore. And I don’t know why it took me being dosed off on Adderall to realize it. I don’t want to do anything but study math. I don’t give a fuck how bad I am at it now, because with exposure, practice and effort, I will get good. The only thing I care about is where I’m going to live and how I’m going to take care of myself. Erdos got good enough that people housed him, and took care of him, and he knew attachment to objects, even places, would prevent him from greatness.

I’ve gotten rid of almost everything. Except these cello pieces and emotional baggage. The emotional stuff may take some years to clear, the cello pieces are going out tomorrow. I guess I’ve decided. It’s math.

Everyday I recommit to this and get sad, because I finally have chosen my work. And I know there’s a lot of fucking work to do. This emotional baggage, this wanting for another person beside me, it’ll fade. I’ll rid myself of you.

What I realized today: intersections are limit objects. No wonder they’re called caps.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.