In many insomniac nights I have started counting backwards from one hundred, looking for associations, counting my way through my life. Addresses, bus numbers, years, dates, Now that I have written down a version, I don't do it at night any more. I don't count backwards. I sleep better. There's more room for dreams.
Here's the current end of Counting Backwards from 100
There are no number thirteen buses, I imagine
Twelve years a slave. Twelve years free
Eleven pipers piping. If you like piping
Ten. One Oh. Forget it
Dorothy L. Sayers' Nine Tailors were bells
Eight and a half. Fellini. Mastroianni over Roma
Seven Years in Tibet
Now we are six
Five Go Mad in Dorset
Four-minute warning before the world ends
Three is not a crowd
Two of a kind is kindness itself
One is one and all alone and ever more shall be so
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