Life is like a box of chocolates at 45

I got these magazines called MC2 from Mensa and they were always filled with cool goings on – parties at bars in major cities, camps in the Bahamas – a singles life. As I sat across from the withering, bespeckled leader of the three of us – our other cohort only a shorter and more balding, junior version of the first – I can’t imagine what we looked like to anyone who cared to glance our way at the Graduate Club at Waterloo. There, perched illustriously on the table, was our 8 inch, (20.32 cm,) baculus molior of wisdom and knowledge – a small and rather unfurling flag with our logo, the Round Table: Onward and upward; seriously?

Recorded sounds scratching off the turntable and static inserted right about here. Where the fuck was I? The three of us made the least amount of sense for the brain trust of society in a local chapter EVER. Had Aristotle or Sophocles not been distracted along with Socrates by some cup game at the bar they would have swooped in and crushed our hopes of mollification to actual human beings in as little time as possible.

It’s not exactly an accomplishment, or is it? Who would put such a thing on a resume? I still do now and again though. I also keep the membership card in my wallet, where it’s been since 1993 when I found out I had won the gene lottery. Why couldn’t it have come with a signing bonus! If I look back now I realize how young and immature I was. It’s a known fact: I only wise up long after the time when hindsight becomes clearer.

And no I’m not going to dazzle you with math tricks – I never spent enough time – well I should say I spent too much time in a math classroom to exude prodigal status. Maybe that’s it. They didn’t invent the Rubik’s cube for art or literature, and they certainly didn’t want to trot out my experiment in socialization, to the piano at 4 years old either. Besides, those were the wiz kids. They were probably well above the 99th percentile, or the 98th we mere Mensans were given as a target. Our table was just plain round, not dodecahedron {5,3}, off course not.

Savants, why I oughta – not here, this is my story. I’m not going to make any more assumptions or excuses for the egg heads – I left their unfertile womb a year after demanding their attentions because, well, they weren’t all that much fun to be honest. And besides, I was living in the moment disconnected from consequences as much as possible at 26. And it’s in the moment where I excel today. Give me thirty seconds and I can start barking orders. Give me an hour and I’ll draw you a diagram. Two hours and it’s a flow chart with inputs and outcomes. Give me 24 and you will have a theory supported by principles. Then I get redundant and bored. That’s my rain man window. That’s all I got. Hope you like what you got.

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