derivatives

Twenty-two is the number of push-ups today.
Nine is the number of class sessions left in the semester.
Three is the number of hours it took to write two paragraphs for my thirty-five page paper.
Four is the number Aleve I'm suppose to take in a day (excessive?) to be supplemented with six Tylenol (really excessive?) which I hope to no longer need to do in five days when I will have who knows how much fluid drained from my knee.
A bad ending to a nice list of numbers. 

I'm just counting.

I love typing numbers in the complete opposite way I feel about calculus. 

Four is the number of days until my one hour pre-test tutoring session with the adorable, the seemingly indefatigable, two broken fingers on his left hand, skateboarder, math genius, Mr. Love.

It's also four days until the test.

The best Mr. Love moment during our last session on Thursday eve was his confession that he had stayed out too late the night before. There had been a Physics Club Meeting slash Pizza Party and that had then led to beers and shots at a nearby bar. A certain bar of ill-repute, no less. Makes me giggle just thinking about it. 

(If only it made me want to study calculus.)

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