Numbers soothe me, even though looking at the second grade picture doesn’t reveal a sensitivity to them.
They grew on me.
I carve out time for mental health. It’s actually 100 minutes every 131400 (not to get all rent-y on people): less than 1% of my time.
Not to Harper Index it, but the other 1% in my life is a portion of my gross income spent on live entertainment : 80 shows so far, or 28% of year to date evenings… afternoons… weekends… what’s in a day? Especially if you spend any portion of it waiting to get into the venue.
With no formal training in how to detect the beauty and mystery and meaning and meaninglessness of numbers, I have felt their radiant heat. When things grow a little colder, I draw closer to them out of necessity. I have the uneasy feeling, and here’s where you get to invoke both pi and crumb’s smarter brother, that the numbers are really sounds; and the sounds string together to form poems.
Not to worry. I’ll have a nice 100 minute talk with a professional. It will true the axis.