At the time, I was more interested in a dialogue, "What ends?" I questioned. No reply though. Then it hit me that it was odd that I was trying to talk to myself. I let it go; a figment spawned by my weary mind, I rationalized. Dream remnants, if you will.
IVC taught me well. There was this perfect balance of mistakes with learning that left me fluent in language and mathematics. I was giddy the morning of my class, I hit up the Phoenix Grill and grabbed a cup of coffee, and figured I should get to class early. I found my room, and thought of my first day of IVC, when I entered the dirty gray room that was soon to be my Philosophy class. "This room is cleaner looking," I noted.
The teacher was soft spoken. His words were precise and descriptive. His vocabulary bested anything I had even experienced. All of his ideas were completed with a glance to the ground and a terse "mmhm," under his breath. I made the mistake of asking a simple question. My mathematics was a little under-exercised, but the confidence was still in it. Like an aged out of shape marathoner believing he could still run a marathon because he did it "one time," I hung around after class and challenged a proof.
"I have a question," I said.
The last person exited the classroom, and he took a seat. The notion that he was nervous passed through my mind (I often find a seat when I am nervous).
I had prepped, I pulled a marker from my backpack, and began to write on the board. Instantly, and I do mean the instant my marker hit the board I was already defeated. The first thought in my mind had been a fallacy. No one was impressed.
I left feeling quite defeated, and shaken.
Similar happenings emerged in my classical mechanics class. My logic skills are still up to par though, so that is a positive.