My father, my sister (one of them, at least), my mother, and I–to varying degrees–dropped an engine over the weekend, which is mechanic argot for putting the thing that makes the car go vroom vroom into the car. This took up the majority of my weekend, and when I wasn’t working towards the goal of making the car go vroom vroom I was A) watching SNL, or B) playing Pokemon.
Then, also, when I wasn’t doing of that stuff, I was probably doing something else, like bathing, sleeping, or eating, or maybe putting lotion on my hands–for, you see, engine grease dries out your hands faster than a cheetah on cocaine, although why anyone would give a cheetah cocaine is beyond me.
And when I wasn’t doing any of that stuff, I was reading American Gods, which is a book by Neil Gaiman about America or something of that sort. I was largely unsuccessful in this venture, and so I must catch up with my reading today, which is easier said than done, because it’s really hard to flip the pages when you have to smear your hands with moisturiser every five seconds to make sure that they don’t start bleeding again. Hopefully my hands will stabilise themselves soon, and I won’t end up having to get robot Darth Vader hands grafted on…Although, now that I think about it, that would be really cool. Like, so cool that I would be willing to write an indie rock song about it.