Been sitting here for a while.
Pencil in hand, feeling like a child.
I scribble and scratch,
Drop my head in my hands,
Drawing figures instead of pictures,
and nothing makes sense.
I tear the dot matrix paper in frustration,
and the perforations tearing bring me a brutal satisfaction.
Numbers and letters dance in my head
the tune of classical music creating a cultured soundtrack.
Time drifts away and frustration turns to panic,
I gulp coffee until it’s gone,
Frantically flipping the pages of my notes.

If equations are trains threading the landscape of numbers, then no train stops at pi. - Richard Preston

I’m gonna make that train stop at pi, God damn it.