Time and Math calculations simultaneously calm and terrify me. Whenever I feel like life has thrown me an awful turn I calculate just how short a certain stage of my life will be to make me feel better. I only have 8 years, 10 months and 22 days until I am fully vested in my pension, but I still have 34 years, 21 days until I am eligible to use it.
When I am feeling nostalgic and want to grab life and make it slow down the opposite happens. Like this morning, I was holding Twinkle’s first lost tooth in my hands and I calculated that she has already lived out 35% of her childhood. Ninja has 11 days until he has lived exactly 25% of his childhood. It does not seem possible that they both are one-fourth of the way through their childhood journey, or that I am only 10 years away from teaching the oldest one how to drive. See, terrifying.
In exactly 5 hours I find out if the medication I am taking to slow the rapid growth of my pituitary tumor is working, or if I will need surgery next month. I’m not sure what percentage of shrinking will satisfy my need for number comfort, I presume any number that precedes the statement, “and therefore we can continue medicinal therapy and avoid surgery” will do the trick.