Supposedly bad news comes in threes, so now I’m waiting on a third; for the old crew at SONGS, one of my old bosses passed away on the first of January and another acquaintance this past weekend. Perhaps that’s why I had the dreams of mortality earlier (or maybe that’s just on my mind lately, what with theVet’s job and our life lately). It gets to the point where I half expect the email forwarded with “sad news about …” every day lately. That’s just life, I guess; the cycle spins on unbroken. For the fact-based unbiased view, though, it’s crazy to think about numerology and the significance of digits: three is prime, three is odd, three is an integer.
Three. Is a magic number.
I will assign no greater importance to three beyond saying that I have three ways to get to work in the mornings, or that I have three different camera systems for my attention. You should avoid the third rail. That’s what I’ve got. I’m also the guy who was superstitious/compulsive enough to keep my feet aligned with tile grains all throughout high school (let’s face it: I still do it unconsciously, I think) and kept favorite wool shirts to wear on test days in college.
I don’t honestly expect to hear more bad/sad news in my email, no more than to explain that it’s still winter in most of the country and we have just gone through the holidays, which are an additional stressor. There’s plenty of reasons besides the heebie jeebies to explain why we’re hearing of this now, not the least of which is the aging workforce at my old place of employment. Still, there’s that tickle at the back of my mind singing out about threes.