Eights are good because they are round and go on and on and they hold everything together. Twos and fours are bad they feel fuzzy in your mouth and when they are put together they become especially bad. Threes are good but the girl (who is like me) avoids them because they are red. Sevens make me happy and calm.
Did I read that sentence correctly? I’ll read it again. No, I think I am remembering one of the words wrong, I’ll look once more. I have it now – but no I need to make sure that word is the right one, just one more time I swear I will not turn the page back again after this last time.
My hands are sticky, I should wash them. I don’t think I got it – they still feel sticky, coated with worldly grime. I wash them again. Maybe my towel is sticky, too. I will wash them once more and use a new towel to dry them. Now I am typing and they are getting that way again – maybe it’s my keyboard. I have to wipe it off, clean it. Now I’ve touched a cloth that was used to clean something and I must wash my hands again.
Baby B looks like he’s not breathing. I should check to be sure. I can’t hear him! I’ll just be very still and lean down near him and listen, but no – I still can’t hear anything. I look and look in the dim light but I can’t see anything moving, so I place my hand on his back to feel but the movement is absent, or else too subtle. So no I shake him gently to get a response and then he is crying and I know he is alive. This will happen three or four times each night.
The rhythm matches my steps as I walk, but there is something off, my cadence, or the accent is on the wrong beat. I begin the tune again in my head and walk and try to make the steps match the words and the music but I can’t quite get it and I have to start over again. Then, too late, I am at my destination and I must discreetly place my feet just so, walking in place until the beat has been satisfied and the beast sated.