Spread the word
We interrupt this episode of Sesame Street ...
Yes, I know that the advent of Spring always makes people wax poetic. However, it's one of my little rituals. Last year, I composed a lovely piece of purple prose that was ignored. Well, actually, it was more like lilac, but that's splitting hairs. This year, I am offering something more plebian, but perhaps more entertaining. If you disagree? You can fuck off.
After all, no one is forcing you to read it.
Spring is sprung, the grass is riz
I wonder where the birdies is?
They're on the wing, but that's absurd
For the wing is really on the bird.
Author Unknown
Rituals reminds me of obsessions. Last night, I was cogitating on the obsessions that we all seem to develop around quantatative data.
Yes, I know, a very big word for a bear of very little brain. However, I occasionally like to confound all and sundry by pretending that I have some remnants of that elusive characteristic known as "intelligence" ... though this may be a debate for another time.
In any case, getting back to the point at hand. Numbers. It seems everyone is obsessed by them in different ways. Some people like to ritualistically add them up. Other people claim they can predict the future by them.
My personal numeric obsession is to count down the days until significant events. What is your numeric obsession?
By the way, if you have come this far and you don't answer in the form of a comment, you shall be hung, drawn and quartered at the first available opportunity.
Right, I've now finished the cup of coffee that was the reason I decided to write this pathetic post when I should be safely tucked up in bed - which, I might add, is bedecked with fresh linen ... part of which consists of a frightening, yet somehow stunningly vibrant, hot-pink satin quilt cover.
This post is formally adjourned.
I chase numbers. Lots of them.
Numbers & I apparently do not get along these days!
