an admitted tracker

I like numbers. 

And statistics. 

And knowing how many of whatever I've done. 

It's pretty much a ridiculous waste of time. Yet I find myself unable to break this decades-old habit.

I can tell you how many books I've read in a year, and what they are (40).

The number of movies I've seen (49 this year).

What plays I've attended (26, exactly the same as the past two years).

The current balance on my credit cards at any given time (I basically use only two: Amex and Saks).

My weight. It's been the same (+/- 3 pounds) for the past 7 years (I note it on a calendar every Wednesday).

How many steps I take in a week (between 70 and 85,000).

I keep multiple lists of things to do, exhibits to see (although too many of them get crossed off the list unseen), and TV series to one-day watch (I still need to see Homeland from last season).

Most of these numbers have a neutral affect on me, except for one.

I track my sales and returns, by week. The last four weeks of the year should be the best. Last year they were; this year they're not. 

My gross saless are down by 3%, not horrible but they should be up. But my returns are disastrous.  For the past four weeks, even before christmas, my returns are double what they were last year (31.5% vs. 16.1%). So a third of what I sell comes back. And with it goes a third of my paycheck.

I control everything else that I track. 

I can always read another book. See another movie. Go to another play. Consume fewer calories. Or walk more steps. But I can't make every purchase a final one. If only I could.