Aye, “a pseudointellectual”, Borenstein dubbed, in adolescence, for daring to know, had sparked that deepest doubt and then a walkabout, through degrees, jobs, and loves, but returning… Aye, a pseudointellectual, midlife with worries and worms, feeling what’s queued unswallowed and unlearned, the body taking another number then sitting down to wait and see… Aye, a pseudointellectual, wincing and simpering as it all burns down, the absurdity of chasing and ranking infinities – those naturals, integers, rationals, and reals… What a glorious empirical victory – the willful ignorance of everyday cardinality! Aye, wee pseudointellectuals, anxieties undone, grey-haired peers at last, no ones and nothings, save our belonging, even before the grave.