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Rob Zombie's
Short skirt, long jacket

Friday, Nov. 22, 2002
everybody has a nubmer. a special number. i'd never thought about it until a highschool girlfriend pointed out to me that 22 was a regular occurance in her life. she designated it her lucky number. i hadn't even noticed mine until about nine months ago.

i stood on the staircase landing before hiking up the final flight to my apartment door looking at the slab of concrete porch pulling away from the building. On the third floor, thirty feet above the ground, that wasn't such a good thing. The rain had brought the pine needles with it and left a thin layer of soggy muck for me to step through as i crossed that depressing entrance to my apartment door. But honestly, i hadn't really noticed any of that on this particular night. That's just the way my front porch had always looked.

i was absent mindedly staring at the number on the door. 27. Coming home late at night, I'm sure most of my mental processing had been drained after a full day on campus. Those brass numbers, tacked to the door with rusted nails just, sort of, hung there in front of my face while I fished in my pocket for my keys. 27.

Two and seven have occured and recured often enough in my life that i'm fairly suspicious that one or the other, or the two put together are my special digits. Foremost, it's the day of my birthday (I'm a capricorn). They had popped up, although not together, in my mother's phone number, which was mine, too, for the first 20 years of my life (and on and off again since). And 27 is half of the house address I grew up with.

I mentioned all this to my sister while she and i were playing in the dirt in her front yard. I asked her if she could think of any similar numbers that recure in her life. The theory seemed to fit. She came up with 19, which happens to be the other half of our childhood address. That house also happens to sit on 19th Ave. And that's how old she was when she met her husband. And it has popped up in every street address she's had since moving back here after college.

Wull I'll b'damned.

Ben came up with three numbers, 3, 7 and 9, I think. They were all recurring digits associated with significant things or places in his life. But none of them seemed to mark significant moments in his life. Maybe those moments hadn't come for him yet.

This has been on my mind quite a bit in the last six months; even moreso as the year draws closer and closer to my birthday. I'll be turning 27. I'm anticipating 2003 to be one of those "life-changing" years, but I'm doing the best I can to avoid thinking about what kinds of changes might be happening. It could be a job; it could be the completion of my first major piece of work; ...I could die, or be sent to jail. I could move to France or meet the love of my life. Try as I might not to think too much about it, or anticipate one event or another simply because I want it, I keep coming back to that last one. Meeting the love of my life. And I really, really hate wasting my time thinking about that.

I have a theory on how things like that are supposed to happen: in due time. Everything worth remembering in my life happens in due time. (As does everything in the universe, it seems. A well-traveled, philisophical uncle of mine pointed out to me that everything happens when it is ready to happen. In short, water doesn't boil before it's hot.) Trying to calculate how life will unfold, when or where, is a sophmoric waste, because life is what happens to you while you're making other plans. Though it doesn't stop me from wondering what she looks like, how her mind works or whether I've already met her.

Hundreds of people pass by everyday and most of them seem to possess some facinating quality readily noticable in a moment's glance. Of course none of those qualities has anything to do with inner character or personality, heart or intelligence, but the immediate presentation does give certain clues to what lurkes beneath.

...I don't like being sick.

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