My sometimes-overwhelming habit of counting everything reminded me of something more important today. I may very well be able to tell you how many steps of stairs there are in various buildings of the cities in which I've lived... or just how many florets of broccoli may be found in the average 16oz. bag (again, variances among brand... and per brand).
When I was growing up, I thought that I wanted to be a banker. Not that I knew what a banker did, but I imagined that it was a job that required counting money all day long. I really do not like to touch money in paper or metallic form, but the idea of getting paid to monotonously count something- anything- all day long just seemed too perfect. Maybe they would let me wear gloves. I'm still not sure what type of gloves, as the powder in latex gloves always freaks me out. Maybe I could wear my long yellow plastic home-cleaning gloves. Although, I imagine that might be frowned upon, as it may appear strange to some customers. But if they could only put me in a little green box with my long yellow gloves and things to count for 9-10 hours a day, I think we'd have a deal.
Other jobs I wanted when I was growing up: flight attendant, butcher, laundry folder (is there such thing?), dog walker. And, perhaps my longest-held and most cherished: catfish farmer. I went to school for marine fisheries for two years to pursue this. After two years of study and two volunteer positions as cephalopod lab tech at UTMB and as a docent and renovator assistant to the new curator of the Houston of Museum of Natural Science Malacology Hall (my time there is another story), I chose otherwise. But, I still dig marine creatures. The smell of such work leaves much to be desired, yet I do miss it. As I type this, I am reminded of my stranded dolphin necropsy experience, though that is another life account.
Regarding counting, monsters are another thing. Strange how they can have as many eyes and arms and other appendages as the illustrator designates. They seem to elude all that is normal and regular and counted... but, I suppose that is why they are in a category of their own. It must be freeing to be a monster, to not have to feel the pull to conform to any standard or have any sort of expectations to which it should meet in life, love, community. On the other end of the spectrum, I suppose that could lead to apathy, loneliness, and a sense of indirection in general. But, I like to think that monsters are on the more cheerful side of that rainbow.
You could even call a monster an artist of sorts. No real form, only imagination may interpret just what they are. As friendly or sinister as they may appear, they ultimately choose their own life's will. Better than any other creature, they understand acceptance for their own selves, appreciation for their strengths and concessions for their weaknesses, and recognition with which how they may change this world, for better or for worse.
I think we could all learn something from monsters. In fact, I cannot even count the ways.
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