One Times Two Equals Three

On my first day in the trauma ward - moving out day - I got a call from Spandex.  I've known this man a long time so I was able to explain my situation - massive trauma to the head - and blow him off politely.  He was gracious and understanding which helped although I would have blown him off had he been abrupt and self-absorbed, as he so often is.  Wait a minute - that's me.  I forgot.  I got confused.  I'm blind to my many and various defects.

He called again a week later right at the end of my last day in the trauma ward - moving in day.  I was quite tired and needed to stop doing what I was doing because I was overdoing it and I could expect only to break something or hurt myself at that point.  I'm a bad stopper.  I move around, zombie-like, doing more more more while getting nothing productive done.  He graciously excused himself again, but I protested.  I needed to talk to a friend not move more of my crap around in a desultory fashion.

He had two stories to tell me if by "two" you mean "three.  He may have had other stories, and he may have told them, but three is all I can remember.   Three is the biggest number I can handle on a good day.  Anyway, one was about money and one was about family and one was about starting a huge 9 month project the next day.  There I sat -  traumatized by all of the money I had spent moving and traumatized by a family member's behavior and totally traumatized by the huge project facing me, starting a whole new life.

I could barely keep a straight face.  I can't believe how we help each other out. It's eery.