Looking for a small table for the studio. Every second listing says excellent condition and then shows one photograph taken from the moon. I asked a seller for the width between the legs because the chair has to fit under it. He sent the overall width again. Could be he didn't read the question, could be he wants it gone and doesn't care. I'm already making a whole judgement of the man over a forty-dollar table. Drew the gap beside my bed on a piece of paper and checked what I actually need. If the measurements fit, I can inspect the table. His entire character probably doesn't need settling first.

Got out between fares and walked round the block instead of sitting there checking the same empty map. First few steps felt like my right leg hadn't received the update, tight from the hip down, then it eased enough to walk normally. Didn't go far. Bought water and stood in the shade drinking it, shirt sticking between my shoulder blades where the seat usually is. Back in the car I noticed how close I'd pulled myself to the wheel. Adjusted it, then adjusted it back halfway. Apparently even getting comfortable requires a trial period. At least I didn't eat the sandwich while steering this time.

Mum sent a photo of my sister with a cake she'd made herself. The icing was crooked and she'd written my name along one side because they were pretending I was there for tea. Bit rough, seeing that in a car park on my own. I sent back a complaint about my slice being the smallest. She called immediately to argue it wasn't cut yet. We talked for ten minutes, mostly rubbish, and I felt better than I had after a whole morning of people being perfectly polite in the back seat. Nearly told her that. Asked whether the cake was dry instead. She said come and find out, then had to go.