Appalachia Year

I like to count things when I'm running. It helps to silence the Kerrigan-esque scream of every cell in my body: "huhwhyyyyyyy."

Sometimes I count porch cats, who follow me sagely with their eyes as I jog past. I typically imagine them thinking, "Ah, the illusion of control. We're all gonna die someday, sweetheart."

Sometimes I count election signs. I usually lose track of the number of Obama signs.

Haven't seen a McCain sign yet.