I’ve always had a fascination for numbers. Some numbers have always been more pleasing to me, like ‘3,’ ‘12,’ or ‘Seven of Nine.’ This is, of course, very odd, so I’ve had to resort to extremes to hide it, like becoming an engineer, or pretending to use Excel to make pictures.
I was playing around with Excel the other day, as engineers who obsessively collect data are wont to do. I had plotted an interesting convergence—three of my cars (if I count my wife’s) had almost the same mileage last week.
The mileage of my Honda Civic was overtaken by my wife’s Subaru Legacy, which was later overtaken by my Subaru STI. This took over 148,300 miles and 15.3 years of meticulous planning to achieve (note: no actually planning conducted).
My daily driver recently turned 100,000 miles. Yet somehow I’m the one that feels old. Actually, any sense of time passing makes me feel old.
Technically I’m probably middle age, although that seems so old just to type that. I don’t have my AARP membership yet, so I’m not getting the Denny’s discount.