Two Halves Equal A Whole... Maybe

I've never been a math person.

Ever.

I'm not even good with numbers in the most basic, general sense of their use.

For example, I suck at the "How Old Do You Think I Am?" game, I'm never close in the "How Many Jellybeans Are In This Jar?" estimation, and I certainly cannot venture a guess at how much things cost, like those crazy game show fanatic types on "The Price is Right."

Seriously, though, those people are crazy.

I would just guess $1 every fucking time. Maybe sometimes that would work. Other times, probably not. So. Yeah, I don't think I'd last long on "The Price is Right." Ah, well. Who needs a pair of jet skis and a china cabinet or a new Chevy Malibu? Okay, admittedly, the last time I watched TPiR was about ten years ago. So, maybe the showcases (that's what they were called, I think) have improved since then. Regardless, I still don't think I'd know how to "price" them. Not right, that's for sure.

I do, however, commit numbers to memory rather readily. This I attribute to the fact that I have a serious memory for the trivial, and somewhat irrelevant, facts that most people walk past, skim over, or depart from.

Such as, you ask?

Well, such as phone numbers, license plate numbers, addresses, etc. Numerical sequences. Those I can handle.

Like I said - bullshit number crap that's the same as knowing how to spell.

For me, numbers are words that transform, they don't co-exist; I can remember a numerical sequence like the words in a sentence, but one doesn't add up words, so therefore I don't add numbers.

Words don't add. Words accumulate, but each one maintains it's integrity. Numbers, on the other hand, change, disappear, develop and melt one into the other, creating an entirely new number.

I watched a movie tonight about falling in love; the concept was not unlike other Falling In Love Movies. Boy meets girl, boy loves girl, boy and girl marry. Sometimes, like this time, there are variables. Fractions, divisions, multiples and algebraic exes and whys that make their way into the equation; but, regardless of those inclusions, in love stories, the equation always equals 2. Boy plus girl equals two. One plus one equals two.

Simple fucking math, and I can't do it.

I'd like to think that it's my inability to equate numerals to theory that makes my world seem so absolutely alone without one more than me, but the fact is that I believe it's the way we're programmed, the way we're conditioned. We expect that every one (1) has a two (2). Every beginning has an end. Every plus one will eventually equal a minus one. Everything balances.

Like a fucking accountant pounding an adding machine, the rhythm of the ticker tape doesn't cease, the noise and the ink rack up pluses and minuses and result in the relieved tally that tells the number cruncher that they're at a satisfying total of... zero. Zero.

And since when is fucking zero satisfying anyone except people who love math? It's not. That's why I love words. The more words, the better; the larger the sum of it's parts, the more powerful the piece.

Someday, perhaps... someday I'll try to understand one plus one equals two. Someday I'll see my reflection in another person, my "other half. " And, then, in one split second, when I open my mouth and utter the words "I love you," to this person, this half, I'll feel like two instead of one, or one instead of a half.

Someday, I'll learn to love math. Someday, when I learn to love you.