Forty four
I’m awful with numbers - they mean nothing to me. I have to tally my checkbook register five times to get the same balance. I can’t remember a phone number that I’ve used daily for ten years. And really, I hate to admit it but I get anxious when count out change at a cash register.
But today, I caught myself counting my strokes with a single edge razor blade as I smoothed the surface of my encaustic. Yep, forty four strokes then wipe the blade, inspect the surface, and start again. I realized I was in a rhythm of forty four swipes across the surface EVERY SINGLE TIME.
I’m sick. I can honestly say not a single other thought in the world was in my mind except counting to forty four and keeping the exact same pressure with the blade as I worked across the surface. This could be a form of meditation. Or I might need medication.
Meditation or medication. Hard to say…..
