A mathematician is a Machine for turning Decaf into Corolaries.

I feel so Impotent.

The Powers that Be (aka the Rehab Ruler) (aka my espoused beloved) have encouraged the switch to Decaf for all pm coffee undertakings. Sensible, no? But tough. Tough love. (I used the phrase "tough love" in math lab the other day and the excited lady piped up, "Oh, you're a Christian too?" So apparently maybe somebody like James Dobson coined that term? Was that a book title? Anyway. The same lady told me within about 60 seconds of meeting her that she is bipolar, has ADHD, carpal tunnel syndrome, fibromylagia, is separated, and is going for spousal support. I feel like a social worker sometimes.)

Okay, thought? Hello? Did you go somewhere when I wasn't looking?

Wait, did I have an idea in mind when I logged into blogger to write this post? Or didn't I?

You know, I'm beginning to sense a desultory descent into decay and despondency in my writing style. You guys aren't feeling that too, are you?

I alliterated. Ha ha. There's not a fine for that, is there?

Back to the vector proofs.