When I was a kid my mum made this rule that if my sister or I had a friend over, we would both have a friend or some mix of friends to make it an even number. She started this because if only one sister had a friend over, someone from the group was left out and would end up upset, left out, angry, or crying. For a long time, until my mid 20’s, I would never do things in threes. Even the simplest things like eating nuggets, buying things, or actions I had to repeat, it was almost always two or four. I was conscious of it daily. I’d hold back on eating something if it made it three or I’d have two more to make it four. I hated things in three, I avoided it wherever I could. When I was 18, I dated a guy for two years and three was his baseball number, I tried to like the number but it was never going to work out. I carried my fear of three (Triskaphobia) until I was about 26 and then one day, I decided to stop. My grandad always said 13 was lucky and one day I made a tattoo appt for Friday the 13th. I had drawn it on paper, sixteen evenly placed dots to go on my left forearm. Eight dots of two different custom shades of green, two by two, in a pattern around my arm like a beaded bracelet. Sixteen, a square number, two times my birthday number 8, the fourth power of two. Since that Friday the 13th, I have been tattooed on that day a bunch of times. This month, Friday the 13th was my last day out and about in the world before isolation diary started. Today was … Continue reading Day 16: Challenges