After contorting myself into strange poses to replace a burned out headlight I realized I should take the car for a spin to test it out. Dusk was in full swing. The mid-August twilight lets ones know that summer won’t last forever.

Hospital staff trudged slowly down the sidewalk on tired, tired legs past working girls hustling for dates. Everybody was wearing scrubs

A man was doing his best to dislocate something as he hefted a big watering can to reach his hanging basket. His dog was being helpful, warning the begonias not to try anything funny.

It’s raining outside. The kind of late night summer rain that comes after a bit of a dry spell, with lumbering echoes of thunder and raspy sounds in the downspout.

I wish I had something to do on Friday nights. I worked until midnight and now it’s just… nothin’.  Nobody to talk to. Nowhere to go. No discussions about current events or time travel or problems of philosophy. Is it awful to suggest that I have no life?  At least, not on any given rain-drenched Friday night.

I could watch videos in which some doofus opens and eats military rations from 1943, extolling the virtues of almost not rancid biscuits and mysterious substances that were once chocolate.

I could line up 9 quarters in a row across my sketchbook page using the edge of my ruler. That’d be neat.

I could edit footage of myself gesticulating a little too wildly as I try to explain why I glued some things to some other things.  I never thought of myself as the kind of person who talks with his hands.

What the fuck do people do? How do they do it?

I’ve been elbow deep in a major job all day. The big ones can make me a little introspective because there’s a strange mixture of trying to work fast along with long periods of repetitive tasks. Risk too.  You know how hard it is to pry the back off a laminated guitar? No, you probably don’t.

I’m trying to decide if this particular guitar deserves the amount of attention I’m lavishing on it.  It’s not a high quality instrument (though it does sound nice). The amount and nature of the effort I’m putting in exceeds its monetary value. In my world anything can be fixed, but it’s a strange judgement call to have to make. The guy wants this guitar, and I couldn’t talk him out of the repair. The Japanese have an interesting perspective on all this, something about the shokunin taking on any job within his purview as a kind of duty to society.

I wish people were as passionate about having me build something as they are about me fixing their student-grade import.

-I’ve had the same avatar on here for seven years and never once changed it. How do you know when it’s time to switch it up?  I have no idea why I chose to make one in MS Paint. I have no idea what the black parapet thingy is, or why the sky is red. *I* remain similar in appearance, minus a little hair so I guess it’s not false advertising. It’s getting a little old though.

Various scenes from my day.

I went over to my neighbor’s house and held a piece of plastic in place for 15 minutes while some epoxy cured.

I struggled to buy wine for a family gathering tomorrow. I know only the barest minimum about varieties. Usually the choice of typeface on the label has a lot to do with my selection.

I carefully wrapped up two warm and heavenly-scented pans of brownies for said gathering, wishing I could actually eat something like that.