Eating chocolate while Cam takes out drug lords on an old console game.
My vintage car model is coming along and I keep meaning to get back to recording a song.
I look around me at paints, guitars, brushes, visors, bits of chrome foil. The detritus of love and fascination. The room smells of isopropyl and wood, with a hint of floor polish.
Someone the other day mentioned an expression: homegrown. It means basic, inbred maybe. It was not so subtly aimed at me. The internal dialogue went like this, "Fuck you you obdurate, arrogant fucking idiot. You really have no idea, do you?"
Outwardly, the best I could muster was, "And you're what? A paragon of sophistication, I'm assuming?"
Not my finest line but fuck it.
At least the conversation trailed away in my favour for a change.
And tonight Cam saves the world as I save my sanity once again.
My god I'm good at not working.
As the kettle boils and the teabag awaits once more.
Party.
