As I drove home this evening I was musing about the events of the workday, and in order to push those unpleasant thoughts out of my mind I started thinking about numbers.
I like numbers. Numbers like me, too. My social security number is a pattern. My driver’s license number is a pattern. The plate number on my car is a pattern. My husband’s social security number is a pattern. These are all sequences I have memorized. In fact, I must consciously stop myself from memorizing numbers. I have memorized the 10 digit project numbers at work, and I have memorized my PG&E account number, and I have a cache of PINs which do not correspond to specific dates or otherwise represent something of personal significance which I have memorized all the same.
I force myself to stop memorizing numbers because it is truly neurotic. Back in the day I was the subject of a few Rainman comments, which I found disconcerting though not entirely without merit; numbers are soothing, and the patterns are brilliant. But I had made a choice to live in the world of Nongeeks, so I compelled my mind to stop memorizing.
But today was a particularly puzzling day at work, so what better way to find some sense in the world than to put some numbers to it. And then, kismet: this post indicated that I am either (a) not quite so neurotic as I had originally believed; or (b) have relatives in the UK.