Counting My Blessings and Other Mathematical Problems

Oh, those scientists.  After 13-years of egg-head heroics, they mapped the Human Genome. They identified approximately 20,000- 24,000 genes in human DNA.   And if that wasn't enough to polish the anticipated Nobel, they determined the sequences of the 3 billion chemical-based pairs that make up human DNA.   I'm sure the ability to count was among the 3 billion pairs. 

Now I assume I have the counting gene, but it's so aggressively recessive that it has failed to make an appearance since that day of infamy -- the moment a teacher invoked the "Q" word -- "quadratic equation. " 

For a writer, the mere thought of combining the alphabet with numbers was enough to quash any brief flirtation  I may have had with mathematics.  Even worse, was that bizarre V with a line attached at the top. 

Over the years, I have often been asked by my well-meaning and non-algebraic phobic friends to count my blessings.  I find it increasingly hard to do so.  The reason is simple.  This sage advice is often given in whispered tones in front a person who is walking with a long white cane, or sitting in a wheelchair.   I guess somewhere in that genome study, there's a gene for comparative misery -- a kind of cerebral one-up-man-ship.  Frankly, I never want to be blessed at some else's expense.

Plus, my own misery is so much more satisfying.  For example, maybe I'm blessed because I own hearth and home.  The hearth is electric.  And two incontinent cats and a massive plumbing disaster have turned my home into the 9th circle of odiferous hell.  Maybe I'm blessed because I'm not sitting on a street corner holding a cup a pencils for sale.  Well, that is metaphorically, the life of a freelance writer.  Health wise?  I wear a medical alert badge that says "hypochondriac" -- so I suffer all diseases with equal aplomb.   Even the ever-patient Job got off lightly.

As Gore Vidal once said, "It's not enough that I succeed, others must fail."  That's the flip side of the counting my blessings scenario.  I believe that all blessings are mixed.   Throw the abacus counters out, I say.  Blessings are wonderful, but not in plain sight of a blind man.  And if anyone knows what that weird V line in the quadratic equation is called, let me know. I'm counting on it.   MB