I'm not really very good with numbers. People who know me well take that into account, particularly if I'm telling a story and throw a number into it. I think statistics are interesting, but I tend to forget the actual numbers involved. It makes the point of my stories a little less pertinent.
The other day, I was going to check the P.O. box for work. I've been here nearly two years, I'm the only one who ever gets the mail, and I do so on a regular basis. As I was walking toward the boxes, down the hall and around the corner, I was shifting baskets of numbers in my mind.
I'd pull one up, realize it was an old telephone number from a high school friend. A number I hadn't dialed in, oh, probably at least 10 years. Not helpful.
I pulled up another number, and realized that's my social security. hmmm.
I shuffled around, brought up a few more random, unhelpuful numbers. Do you know, I have my 10 digit library card number memorized? However, it is also tacked to the walll (right next to the numbers of the P.O. boxes, heh) because when I need it, I can't find that basket.
I resorted to poking the key into various locks in the general vicinity of our box. I was fortunate that no one was around to notice. I also was lucky on the third try.
Today's number foiling comes in the form of socks for my husband. I'm relatively close to having finished his second sock. The first sock was left at home because my knitting bag is too full. I am either ready to start the toe now, or need to knit another inch and start the toe. I could've sworn that I looked it up a week ago, and told myself I needed to knit 9 and one quarter inches and start the toe. But I also swore that I had less than an inch to knit, and when I picked up my needles this morning, I was right at about seven inches. One of my convictions is clearly wrong, but the book is at home and I am not, so its impossible for me to tell. Knit 8 and a quarter, or 9 and a quarter?
I googled around for foot measurements, but didn't find anything as helpful as the chart on the book I left at home. I even thought about calling poor James at work and asking him to measure his foot. But that probably wouldn't get me very far, since he probably doesn't have the right kind of tape measure, and a badly taken measurement is worse than just waiting until tonight to look it up after I get home. Frustrating, though, because I tell myself if I could just remember the number, I could probably have finished his socks today.