California is not where we are. That’s our exact position. We need a new toaster. I mangled the inside of the current one when I got a piece of Turkish bread stuck in it. I dug about in there with a chopstick in a very unadvised fashion. Caution to the wind! I treat every accident the same, I give it life with no chance of parole. There is the smell of an idle tape measure in the air, a mechanic out of work, cheap drip-pot coffee, the futility of a flat camera battery. Panasonic. This afternoon, Molly is going for her bus driver’s licence. It’s quite some comeback from when she flipped her Honda on the Nullarbor. She took the plates and walked away from that one. But I remain unconvinced and book her an Uber rather than let her drive to the test herself. I’m devoid of motivation this week. Maybe for the last decade. Difficult to tell. In any case, now is not the hour that I could drink hot blood but rather the hour when I could order several things online that I really don’t need. For me, I’m thinking my only interesting artistic years will be from 52 to 110 years of age. This feeling will no doubt subside. For now, I’ll put on Bat Out Of Hell and think deeply about things that do me no good at all.