EPT
- Thesis Blog. -
In my formative years of junior high and high school the subject of math was always held in specifically high regard. One of my parents being a high school algebra teacher probably is much to blame. I was thrust into advanced Algebra classes I wasn’t really excited about, but was ok with enduring in the interest of placating those that conceived my existence. Years of my adolescence were spent in junior high math classes and after-school math clubs and competitions. Stress levels were elevated to levels I had never before known. I shouldn’t have been surprised though, as I was living below the diaper line. What is the diaper line? We’ll get there in due time.
![[image loading]](/staff/p4NDemik/Me/blog_images/freaks_parents.jpg)
"You're going to math practice after school and that's final!"
Did I relish being called a “mathlete” by 40-year olds that had a weird obsession with numbers that I didn’t understand? No, but it’s hard to say no when your mother runs the damn club. So I continued this farce, attaining good grades in these classes, but spending approximately 50 minutes a day in a class I pretty much abhorred. I did take pride in being ahead of my peers, but that’s about it. I probably would have enjoyed being a Freshman among Freshman upon entering high school algebra classes as opposed to being a runt “Freddie” among Sophomores. The Sophomores had known each other for a year already and I inevitably was outside looking in. They also hated getting worse grades than kids they had on average one year, six inches, and 50 pounds on. The only solace was finding refuge with the handful of other Freshman that had also been thrown into this academic force de tour.
Skip forward ten years, the definitively placed ideas of going into some kind of engineering have evaporated. It may have pleased my parents initially and put more cash in my pocket in the long run. The fact is I’ve found I don’t really have much interest in solving purely algebraic functions and plotting their course on a graph. I have nothing against the expression of more abstract ideas in the form of a graph of a function though. I find these ideas exponentially more intriguing. Ideas such as what kind of relationship my sleepwear has to the level of stress I experience in a given day.
The Nightwear Hypothesis: Stress levels over the course of my life have been inversely proportional to the amount of clothing I find myself wearing in order to sleep at night. I do not believe there is a causal relationship, merely a correlative one. Supposing this hypothesis holds true my stress prospects in the near future look bleak. The key point seems to be maintaining an amount of clothing that is greater than a diaper. Therefore I may need to aspire to keep north of what I call the diaper line. This relationship between stress, sleepwear, and the diaper line is best illustrated in Figure 1:
![[image loading]](/staff/p4NDemik/Me/blog_images/nightwear_function.png)
Diapers, more powerful than I ever imagined.
As life begins I spend moments completely unclothed. Now, I can’t remember that far back, but from what I have observed of other births is I would have been under unfathomable amounts of stress when I entered the world. Minutes to hours after birth though, I probably got tuckered out and slept, and then found out when I awoke that I had my first odd white parasite feeding off my poo. This is illustrated as point A and the y-value will determine the elevation of my diaper line for life.
Eventually, as I wrestle my colon into submission and assert my dominance, I graduate to wearing pajamas. This is illustrated by point B. This period will later be idealized and remembered as a golden age, a time when literally zero shits were given. I literally and figuratively did not give my shit to any man. Down the toilet it went. Inhibitions? Unheard of. Fun? To be found in everything. Stress? What the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is that? Little did I know it would be nearly all downhill for quite some time after that.
By say ten or so I felt the urge to say goodbye to the jammies. So began the era of Hanes, t-shirts and briefs reigned supreme, the other clothing options lay decimated upon the field of battle that was my sense of fashion. This era can be seen as line segment CD. This would precipitate a rather large rise in ego, insecurity, and in turn stress. The CD Era of the 90’s was not all bad though, as I remained above the diaper line.
Inevitably the balance of power could not lost. The line of the t-shirt was cast out of the post-pubescent aristocracy after a heated dispute with the boxer-briefs. Correlating with their ascension to sole power, there seemed to be so many conflicting stressors, responsibilities, and ideas that the heat of the resulting friction became unbearable. This heat has thus kept this brutal boxer-brief regime in power ever since, and there looks to be no respite for the time being. This continuing period of time is demonstrated by line DE.
Now, if my life was to go the way of the stereotypical middle-class white male I figure I would be in for a mid-life crisis. My body could revolt and say “fuck it I’m going commando.” Thus, point F. If this does indeed happen I would guess that it is the breaking point created by inordinate levels of stress, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since birth. In a desperate search for relief I would revert to my original nightwear state, but if the Hollywood myths are to be believed I wouldn’t find it.
Nay, true middle-to-late adulthood stress-free lifestyles seem to necessitate the return of the pajamas. While watching films and television I find the examples of stress-free, pajama-wearing adults a bit odd. After seeing the prior effects on stress during my formative levels I can see the logic, accounting for this with the position of point G. The diaper line is again below, but is not quite down for the count.
Supposing I survive long enough I reason it is likely the diaper line will pull me down. That wretched sphincter will become unreliable and stress will rise, but hopefully not too much. Hopefully. This is seen by point H.
So what information is to be gleaned from this oddity of personal logistics? I don’t know. I guess I should give onesies a try and determine for sure it is not a causal relationship. What I do know is that this exercise was fun, relaxing, and stress-reducing. Not to mention it probably wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t been pushed so hard to actually pay attention in math class. So I suppose in retrospect a few mathlete skills did translate to something I enjoy rather than hate.
Onesies, gentlefolk. It’s the way of the future … the way of the future … the way of the future. Ok enough, I hope this was a fun read.
- Music. -
![[image loading]](/staff/p4NDemik/Me/blog_images/KopeckyFamilyBandKidsRaising.jpg)
Buddy of mine just introduced me to the band, seeing them live tonight!
Buddy of mine just introduced me to the band, seeing them live tonight!
- Poem. -
I thought this blog would have no poem.
Such a hurry, such a fuss,
What brain? What should I throw 'em?
Fuck it, yall will just have to trust
I'll come up with something better
Than this sorry-ass collection of letters.
I thought this blog would have no poem.
Such a hurry, such a fuss,
What brain? What should I throw 'em?
Fuck it, yall will just have to trust
I'll come up with something better
Than this sorry-ass collection of letters.
. That said, how can you sleep with so many clothes on O.o?
