Numbers. They are not now and have never been my friends. They are like spiders on my skin — the faster I can remove them and place them back outside in nature, the better.
This is related to childhood trauma of the mild sort. When I was in third grade, my father (who was good with numbers) gave a hearty attempt to get me to memorize the multiplication table. The setting for this homework session was me laying on my bed looking up at the overhead light with a searing pain in my eyes while listening to him say, “Three times three. Three times four. Come on. OK. Let’s go back to the zeros. One times zero.”
I got the zeros and the ones.
I still get the zeros and the ones. Every now and then, two readers will “heart” one of my posts.
I’m fine with that, but in this moment I wish you five thousand seven hundred and thirty four times seven billion twenty nine. Whatever that is….