Some random numbers and thoughts on the 210th day of the year.
Six. I’ve currently got six stories in varying stages of incompleteness. Of them I’d say three are a complete write off, one will be finished soon and the two others are shaky. I’m running a bit low on ideas. I’d ask the wife but after last night she’ll probably suggest freezing fog and romance.
Sixty-four. The number of kilometers I’ve run in the past nine days. That leaves me with four hundred and thirty-two to go between now and September 20th. I’m supposed to be looking at another eight tomorrow morning but the weather’s closing in so sixty-four minutes might accidentally be added to my alarm clock. Sixty-four is also the current count of people following my blog. Thank you. You are all legends. Or at the very least the ends of legs.
Forty-four thousand three hundred and thirty-three. The combined word-count for the thirty-nine stories I’ve had up on websites in the last two years. I only know this because I’ve combined them in a document. My idea is that when I’m not too busy procastiblogging I’ve got the self procastipublishing project to fall back on. Which is a relief as otherwise I might do something bonkers like attempt to write a novel.
Forty-two. I’m forty-two years old. I know it’s hard to imagine with my boyish good looks and youthful outlook on life but there you go. Mostly it’s ok but it does limit certain…abilities I had a decade ago.
Get your minds out of the gutter, I’m talking about Playstation.
Here is thirty-two year old me playing Playstation.
Wow…I totally nailed that zombie horde despite having consumed half my own bodyweight in beer and having made friends with some very interesting herb cookies. In fact, let’s see if I can nail this next level while drinking a beer and eating one of the aforementioned space-cakes…IN YOUR FACE BITCHES like it was ever in doubt. Hmm…I’ve been awake since Thursday…maybe I should sleep for a while…oh wait, I forgot, I have no kids therefore I can stay in bed with my girlfriend all day on Sunday…
Here is forty-two year old me playing Playstation.
Are you sure you don’t mind me playing? I mean, we can watch something together if you like? Ok cool. I’m going to make some tea, do you want any? No, the red wine is lovely it’s just I get really tired after a couple of glasses and it’s already nine o’clock. Right, let’s take a look where we are, it’s only been seven months so I should be able to…bollocks, I’m dead. Can you remember what the button is for…BASTARD. Dead. Wait if I just…dead. But I…dead. This is shit, I’m going to bed. I’ll try again tomorrow.
And sure as shit it’ll be nailed first time then.
I wrote a haiku about it.
Should I just try…dead.
Repeat. Dead. Repeat. Bed. Wake.
Fuck. That was easy.
Nineteen. The number of minutes it has taken so far to write this piece (please feel free to mail me a count of how many minutes of your life you feel you’ve wasted on reading this and I’ll gladly refund you).