It’s sunny now but it wouldn’t have been if I started writing an hour ago. Then it was snowing and snowing hard; now it’s bright and icy.
Weather changes before you know it.
I am thinking this morning about how we measure our lives in metrics. Minutes; hours; steps; likes; money; numbers, numbers, numbers. Do we have more?
Do we have the most?
Do we have the least?
It’s easiest to compare them, I guess, in a world where few things can actually be measured.
Am I happy?
Am I safe?
Will tomorrow be OK?
They don’t make a gadget you can put in your pocket or wear on your wrist or slip onto your finger for that.
Maybe all the numbers are a distraction from the questions that are too large for our human brains. Maybe they give us something to focus on.
I wonder if other animals need something to focus on.
Maybe it’s only us, poor suckers that we are. Cursed.
We know just enough to wonder what more there is.
At least, some of us do.
But I’m not immune to it, the quest for numbers. I type and watch the word count, even though here I am free from aiming for a number, here, where the post ends is where it ends.
I watch the numbers spin on the clock, metaphorically, of course, because they morph into one another like magic, the last becoming the next.
What if monkeys keep track of branches? What if giraffes count their leaves?
What if I have another cup of coffee?
I think that last one is the only one we can count on.
Have a great Tuesday, and why not think about the weird stuff? At least you don’t have to keep track of that.
A Bit to Read 
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