One backpack full of 12 books delivered to empty neighborhood kiosk.
Three ten hour days spent fixing TV computer. One call to Comcast. Endless searches on internet. Number of consecutive good night’s sleep in absence of TV news? FIVE. Number of heroes in this story? One. My husband.
Six hundred words deleted over three hours, the equivalent of roughly 1 1/2 pages. Number of words still to delete? Don’t ask. Number of times I’ll wring my hands before the second draft’s done? Also — don’t ask.
Number of metal utensils laid out to deter dog-thieving: six. Batches of cookies baked: seven, two of them doubles. One ball of dough left.
Articles of impeachment written: two. Number of articles that COULD HAVE been written (spitballing, here): 25. Still to come: full House vote and one major shit storm in the Senate. Number of years poised at the edge of the abyss: 243.
Number of times I felt dismayed reading black twitter’s critiques of Warren: too many to count.
Seasons of The Kominksy Method watched: 1 1/2 (highly recommend).
Total library fines owed: eek! I don’t know.
Number of times I paused to notice the absence of my sister: at least a dozen. Some moments marked by relief, others by grief.
Number of rallies in support of impeachment planned for tomorrow (the eve of the House vote): more than 600.
Number of times I’ve tipped my head back to admire trees since reading “The Overstory” — too many to count. Number of people to whom I gave copies: three.
Two trips to the PO in the last five days qualifies me as a fucking saint. Three mice mailed, three mini-cloth houses.
Number of meds I forgot to take yesterday: four. Number I did take: two.
Number of days I just let go by without opening my laptop: two.
Eight days till Christmas, five ’til the shortest day of the year.
Here’s wishing all of you lots of love and joy in the days to come.