I am very aware, as I sit down to write this blog post, that someone is counting. This is not a new thing – counting steps, the tick of the clock on the boiler, our heartbeats, items in a room, the pattern on the curtains or cushions, the time since something, the time until something, just counting. It is her way to balance, for want of a better description, a focus somehow for her thoughts – or a way of stopping them, perhaps. When she has finished counting, when there is nothing left to count that has not been counted enough times already, she will take the numbers and perform mental mathematical gymnastics that would be beyond me. We know why she is counting, she’s fine so we leave her to it – it does mean I can’t crochet today because we can’t both count at once without putting each other off but that’s ok, we can compromise.
And now we’ve written about counting, we’ve completely forgotten what it was we intended to write in the first place. Ah well, we’ve managed to come in at a nice even two hundred words – apparently – which pleases her. That’s if we count the title.