Numbers are significant for me. I count things. It’s a superstitious thing. A preparation thing. A rationalising of chaos. Today is a 5 day. The number 5 is a scratchy, metallic kind of day for me, or at least it can be. Hard, sometimes, they are also portentious days, things happen. 7 days are kinder, warmer, more loving. They are my favourites, though more the 7 days than the 5s. It’s a silliness, really. I know this, or at least my rational self does. What harm does it do?
