I don’t do numbers in any way. I’m the girl who, given three numbers to add together, will find a way to get the answer wrong. Having said that, I have an almost obsessive love affair with numbers… the kind of affair where you know it’s wrong, but you can’t help yourself.
I’m pulling seed off the mustard, counting each one. It’s a totally unconscious action. I count the onions as I pull them up.
I can climb the same set of stairs a hundred times a day and I’ll count each step each time. I can’t even begin to describe the weirder (even to me) parts of this affliction. How many people run their tongue over their teeth counting them? Ok, my secret is out. You now have conclusive proof of my strangeness!
I think I’m the only one in my family who will not rest until a number is memorised. I have every ‘life’ number in my head… our first car’s number plate, every phone number I have ever had (and Jurgis’ too) -even work numbers, and pin codes for every electronic device and financial institution. Birthdays and anniversaries are all there – mostly. This is where I come unstuck. I’m not good with dates. It frustrates me! I think it must be because dates aren’t really just numbers. They have words.
But…. I’m a word person! I love words. I’m (relatively) good with them. I can ‘add them up’ in reams. Just don’t ask me to remember names. I think that’s because my head is too full of pretty much useless numbers.
It’s a strange, strange world, this brain of mine…