[Writing]

I saw a deranged homeless man scribbling circles with a pen on napkins. He looked up at the clock as he worked fastidiously. As if he was consulting a reference for his calculations.

I think he needed to feel like he was capable and no less respectable than a college professor, even if he had no understanding of the complex work he wanted to feel like he was doing. We all want to feel worthy.

Sitting there on my laptop, reading math texts that the ministry volunteers probably did not comprehend, I struggled to grasp the concepts. Then I reflected on the behavior of the deranged man, and I laughed at the similarity between him and me.

The stuff I was reading could equally be gibberish to people around me and my efforts equally cuckoo. For all they knew, I was posturing in front of a messy scribble like the deranged man sitting in front of me.

Was I really accomplishing anything more than the man making scribbles? Was I really trying to get anywhere with the subject material, or merely fulfilling an emotional need?

Do I have any right to feel more important than him or anyone? Aren't we all doing our best to feel okay about ourselves?

Cats, because cats.

Take a brilliant math professor away from a community of people who understand mathematics, and stick him in a room of laymen. His disheveled hair and eccentric thoughts can easily mistake him for a crazy person.