I was always good at english in school…whereby “English” I really mean all of the classes that weren’t math or the sciences. I was also really good at those classes, if I’m allowed to boast, but I was less good. Or, at least, they came with a bit more effort than did the literature-based classes, which required no effort at all. My mother always thought I should do something word-related…like be a writer or a lawyer.
Instead, I chose the hard route. I went into Engineering, which is a subject heavily-dependent on the subjects that I had to work at to be good at. And I did this on purpose…the English stuff seemed like cheating to me. I mean, if it was so easy to come by, could I have really earned it honestly?
This short little story should prove to illustrate why, when re-counting my book list of read books, I discovered that I had mis-counted by two. Good at literature, not quite so much at math.