My number friends

I like numbers. I always have. I would have been a math major, but I had to choose between that and biology. (Required classes at the same time and too afraid of authority figures to truly and find a solution). And my friends were biology majors. And biology has a physical aspect to it.  Lots of lovely repetitive movement. I wasn't sure I could sit all day. In a lab, you get to move. (And I love biology, but this post is not about biology.)

But I still love numbers. Even after my math major was gone, I still took math classes. Not a lot, compared to anyone with any respectable math education. Nothing upper level at all. Just 3 levels of Calculus and a Differential Equations class. But those classes were beautiful.

I would have been a math major, but I didn't know anyone and I was afraid of office hours. I still am afraid of office hours. I will have to get over this as a graduate student, most likely.

When I was little, we were told stories about numbers. I don't remember them as much as the alphabet stories as much.

But even now, I have my number friends.

My number friends are wonderful.

There are some like 24, which is a good solid workhorse. 24 is full of drawers. 24 is solid and wooden and always dependable. 24 is not particularly exciting, however.

I like the smaller primes. Like 5 and 7 and 11 and 13. 5 is glorious, actually. Just such a good old friend. A close friend you see all the time and still get so excited to see every time. It's almost the same way a dog gets excited every time he sees his master, even if the human only went to take the trash out.

And some numbers are just gross. 37. 83.

And so on and so forth.


At one point, I dreamed of numbers. Of numbers and square roots and squares and cubes and factor trees. The numbers would dance in my sleep.

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