This is a post from almost a year ago, that I decided to revamp. Much to my delight, I didn’t end up feeling like I needed to change all that much. Most times I read my old posts and end up buried under the covers, shivering for the rest of the day.

Have a safe and happy Friday folks, and thanks for reading!

I have this old adding machine and for about ten years, the battery cover has been missing. It’s because of this I feel a profound sadness every time I pull it out of the drawer. Without the support, I know it will only be a matter of time before those little coils relax and let the batteries fall to the floor. But it would hurt my heart to replace a perfectly good thing due simply to the fact that it’s missing a piece. After all, it still works faultlessly and if anyone appreciates a bit of help in the calculating department, it’s me. You see, I can’t add worth a damn. I still count out on my fingers and have to write anything more than a three-digit sum down on paper or the numbers start climbing, tripping and toppling over one another in my head.

Many years ago, I waitressed and always kept a tiny calculator tucked into my billfold, never wanting to expose my tricky little secret. My fellow servers let bills flail from their pockets or flap from their cleavage and somehow still managed to finish their closes ahead of me and my tightly organized stash of cash.

I also worked in retail and strived to move up through the ranks. But moving up meant making manager and making manager meant numbers, which was, as you can guess, intimidating for someone like me. Eventually I learned to make my fingers fly over the chunky buttons without even looking. I earned a sense of control I’d never felt before, being able to ‘rule’ math that way. Granted, the bookwork to be done was very formulaic and the risk of something going seriously wrong was low. The numbers either balanced or they didn’t and if it turned out they wouldn’t, the mistake was usually very easy to find. It got so that I could do the hour-long nightly paperwork in twenty minutes—fifteen if I had somewhere more enticing to be.

Much to my dismay, long after being paid to fret over it, math continues to linger in my life and it seems the only time I’m able to call it rewarding is when I’m gauging the tip for a sly pub lunch. Things like balancing checkbooks, crunching numbers, logging endless expenses and estimating interests do not bring me joy.

What. So. Ever.

But the other day I decided it was time to clean out my junk drawers—oh shush, yes I have more than one—and you can probably guess what I came across. That’s right. Lo and behold, there, on the drawer’s gritty bottom, lay the battery cover for my old adding machine. I have to say my heart skipped a beat and I did experience what could be considered a teensy jab of joy.

Don’t give up on something because it’s disjointed or incomplete. You never know when you’ll find that very thing you weren’t even aware you were searching for. And sometimes, that little piece is all it takes.

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