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As a math sympathist, I can admit I have always favored the consistency and finality of my [rather frequently abhorred] field of study: for any problem, there exists a set of guidelines that must be adhered to and respected. There is such a certainty in this science, constructed from endless unions and processions of truths.

For such a tedious practice, one can surely find the irony of its simplicity—so few commodities can coexist in this harmony of convoluted exactness. That said, as a lifelong reader, I often concede to appreciating the variability—and subjectivity—of literature, especially that of fiction. Through The Literary Variable, I aim to highlight this contrast through commentary and reviews, and perhaps foster a dwindling appreciation for both of my beloved realms.

But alas, with every bit of joy and whimsy in life, there must also follow trials and tribulations. Thus, as a full-time student and reader, I would say my caffeine dependency and book buying habits require very little explanation. My vices of choice are Redbulls and triple cappuccinos (maybe a double if I have time for a nap), and building my library (ahead of the apocalypse to ease my sense of impending doom)!