Doing the dishes just now. Washing an inordinately large pile of cutlery for approximately two hours of existence for two people. Wasn’t upset, just muttering to myself, typically, whilst washing—in a great, or at least blank mood, for a guy accustomed to late sleep and torpor at these hours—and thelady says, “are you face ripping?” This is mostly an in-joke referring to my song, “Face Rippers Club,” (http://www.myspace.com/thehappyreturns/) that I wrote some years back. In fact I was not face ripping. I was quietly muttering to myself, and then I was overheard. I then became mildly frustrated that I can no longer think to myself without eerily whispering my sadly stunted thoughts. When I go back to work I’ll either have to practice thinking without speaking, or find the way to shape my thoughts to the method of assess-make observation-issue direction. Which is great, because it’s time for either of those modes, anyway. Anyway. Out and over. Failure Is An Option.

Not sure why these Jack Russells I know attack luggage and freak out at the sound and sight of skateboards.

I wonder if anyone else out there has a moveable chin? Let me know. I want video evidence if possible.

I have a comb-over now.