Today is 04/04/04, and in 6 months, I wrote 666 thoughts that would have been kept to myself. My father’s birthdate is 12/12/11; my mother’s 1/2/12. My husband’s social security number is only 2 digits different than mine, and if you add 2 to the total of my 2 different numbers, you get the single number that is different in his. I count pizza slices among friends. I find saneness in numbers. Reliability. Something whole and comprehensible, dependable and trustworthy. An escape into order from the chaos of words.
And aside from a precious few, no one cares about the words. Allowing them to boil and bubble to the surface and rush madly into the atmosphere did not halt but just reveal, and led them to evaporate.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
That’s one hell of a tight essay. I find order cleaning my house, in shining porcelain and citron scented floors, a smooth empty sink, neatly folded clothes. May not be the same thing as your numbers, but I liked your words.
Thanks,
Owen Hansen
Actually, I think that perhaps if I tackled the Spring cleaning I might feel a lot better and less overwhelmed right now. It would indeed add to a sense of order. Thank you also for your kind words; I appreciate them.
i am mostly like u
i find like the puzzles in stuff
and when things happen to me, and they don’t seem to “check”, i try to make it make sense. like with numbers and stuff like that.
with things like personal stuff, and all that
i thought i was never going to know someone just like me. or similar. thanks to the school work i have to do, i found u
thanks for this
sometimes i get the same feelings, but i don’t think at the end it’s right.., maybe we are searching for something and we want any prove to it!!!!!!!