The mechanic says it’s the head gasket and not the thermostat, a big difference in his favor. It’s sort of at the point where I have to decide whether to have the repair made or just junk the car, but it is just slightly cheaper to have the repair made. Thank you, Fiat corporation.

Yesterday I got a pay cut. Anyone out there with money-making schemes, ex-members of flakey governments for example, I’m all ears.

This morning, the Hans Christian Andersen story of the nail-clipper and the dead earwig played itself out in my downstairs bathroom.

You remember that one, don’t you. How the nail-clipper in the drawer and the dead earwig in the shower drain are in love but can’t figure out how to get together? And this guy taking a crap and cutting his toenails at the same time drops the nail-clipper guess where?

Kerplunk. Only, unlike the little tin soldier who ends up going down a drain, getting swallowed by a carp, found in the carp’s stomach by the cook and reunited with his beloved ballerina figurine, this guy reaches into this filthy toilet and digs out the nail clipper and washes it off, because being a home-owner he knows how narrow the diameter of the plumbing is and cannot afford a plumber on top of everything else just now; he had no choice. Plus, he’s fairly inured to disgust at this point in his life, having pets and children and a passing interest in politics. He washes off the nail clipper and finishes clipping his nails with the goddamned thing. And then he takes a shower, but first he gets a piece of tissue and removes hair and the dead earwig from the drain, that drain basket thing. Throws that into the trash.
Typical Hans Christian Andersen, unhappy ending.

The cool thing about an experience like that first thing in the morning, though: your day can only get better.

I figure I got some money coming to me in tomorrow’s lottery.