Day 78
When you are a numbers person sometimes things just don’t add up … like how could I be a member of Mu Alpha Theta and still get D’s in 2 of my high school math classes? (I blame the teachers. If they had not been so boring I would have paid attention to them instead of the cute guy sitting next to me. Technically, I was paying attention!)
When you are a somewhat overweight numbers person, weight is not something to be taken lightly. (No pun intended.) And in this arena things don’t add up, either. Take for example the sorority sister who is far bigger than you but weighs a good 20 lbs less (I keep saying, “Muscle weighs more than FAT!”) … or the friend who somehow fits into a size 6 and you’ve always considered yourself the same size as she … however, to fit into a size 6 again you’d have to amputate limbs or surgically remove some major body parts.
I am such a numbers person. However … I like numbers.
And I also hate numbers.
I count while I’m walking. Not on purpose, mind you … I’m humming along to some tune in my head and all of a sudden I’m counting the number of steps I’m taking per square of sidewalk. Where’d the song go? Instead of lyrics, numbers fill my head. What the heck is with that? It drives me crazy.
I remember dates. My body knows when it’s the 26th of each month. The day Tim died. It takes me awhile to figure out why I’m feeling as I am … and then it dawns on me. On some cellular level my body remembered the date before I was aware of it. I’m not a fan of this date remembering ability that is within me.
I count days. 148 days was the number of days Tim had from prognosis to passing. We had nearly 10,000 days together; nearly 2100 days have passed since he died. Since then I’ve lived the length of his illness 14 times. How is that even possible? I wish I didn’t count days.
I watch the numbers on the scale go up and down … usually more up than down. I watch the sizes of my clothes increase … and decrease. And, as is par for this course, more increasing than decreasing here, as well.
When I type these posts I watch my word count. I try to stay around 500 words. Sometimes I rewrite so that it is exactly 500 words. Sometimes I’m more wordy.
In my line of work I write up estimates for my clients’ orders. On some primal level I derive great joy from crunching the numbers to get the best deal for myself … and also for them.
Right now numbers are not exactly my friends. I just finished putting the label on box #587. Five HUNDRED and eighty-seven boxes to move. The only thing worse than packing up 587 boxes?
UNPACKING 587 boxes.
Like I said … right now, numbers are not my friends.