Eleven.
That's how many reviews I need to write .
One.
That's how many rooms I'm set to paint.
Hundreds.
That's how many angry ants covered my arm when I tried to dispense some cedar mulch over a new plant bed from a bag that had been sitting open for a few days. They were a little angry. There were many angry ant bites. Now I have many angry ant swellings on my arm which is itchy as hell.
Nine.
That's how many hours I devoted to watching the first season of The Wire with my mom. She applauded after the scene from "Old Cases" in which Bunk and McNulty visit and old murder scene and communicate there findings to each other via many intonations of the word "fuck." Brilliant. And, it will be included in "Fuck Noir" as will a story by David Bowker he handed in over the weekend. It was well worth waiting for...
Two
That's how many minutes I waited in the crashing humid, ninety degree heat laden with moisture before turning on the air conditioner became the most important thing I would do today.
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