It's a dime for a tin whistleDepending on who you are cheering for, it's day 943, day 462 or day 2 of Bridget on her own.
And a cigarette
God damn if you listened
But what else do you give
Only for the last one there, he'll be back. Just like the first 2 but slightly different because he isn't dead.
And it's okay, I'm not crazy either.
I've had a good day so far. Up at 5 for my phone call, 6 for my doorbell and 7 for my run. 8 marked the first fall of the day on the ice, on my own portion of the sidewalk because I didn't shovel and it actually rained. In February. Sorry, I was busy yesterday feeling sorry for myself.
Today, I'm not doing that.
9 meant going shopping with PJ. 10 ended long I lasted, listening to Untitled Lullaby in the truck and 11 was when the need for coffee superseded my barely-singed credit card and we called it a morning.
At 12 we headed for home for lunch with the kids, and 397 is the number of grams in this bag of chili lime pistachio nuts that I'm going to snack on all afternoon while I wait for 7, when the goodnight phone call comes for the children and then 10, when I get my very own.
14982 is the number of sheep I'll have to count before my dreams come and take me from this day, for that's how many it took last night.
And 1, as usual, is the loneliest number. But not for long. Because in 20 days, he'll be back.