832966167

"Good Morning Janet" I heard as I opened my eyes today, my brain replied in no uncertain terms:  "832966167" and I was off to the races.  "What shall I do today?"  832966167.  "I'm going to make a pot of tea."  832966167.  I counted my steps, then the stairs, 8, 3, 2, 9, 6, 6, 1, 6, 7.  I've learned how not to panic when that happens.  Laughing with neuro-typical people, even my family members, who think that is such a victory of mine . . .

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It's not a victory, it's a process.  It has always been a process.  I'm just faster now.  5 numbers is a zip code, 7-10 a phone number, lottery numbers are obvious.  I slid  myself through every other numeric possibility I've patterned in my brain until I was at the end, my numerology, which isn't real Numerology.  I made my "numberology" up, it was faster.  

Counting on my fingers, that's 48, that's 12, that's two 6's.  Two 6's, I stop, right there.  Two 6's means I will not understand that number without someone else.  So, here's the secret, speeding the process, I sent energy to the other soul being tormented by 832966167, whatever that torment be, I sent strength acknowledging the fine line I know between genius and madness, I gave a nod to all the things I cannot logically understand and . . . 

Then I took a deep cleansing breath.  I said to myself "Carry On."  I waited for my brain's reply
and it was silent.  I glanced skyward, chuckled with the forces I no longer question, mostly because I can't, poured myself a cup of tea and sat down to write this, to "carry on" . . . tippety typin'.