Tried drawing at the kitchen table instead of on the bed and lasted about twenty minutes before noticing I had folded myself into exactly the same shape I use over a stubborn brake. Chin out, shoulders forward, pencil gripped like it might escape. Shook my hand out and changed chairs. It's funny that something I do for fun can leave me feeling as cramped as work, just without grease. My roommate put music on while cooking and I kept drawing, this time with my arm resting on the table. The line got less precise but my hand felt better. There is probably a good chair somewhere in this apartment. We have plenty of wheels.

Been sketching a frame that looks good on paper and probably rides like a shopping cart. Every time I change the proportions to something sensible, I like the drawing less. Art school me would keep the dramatic shape. Shop me wants to ask who is actually going to sit on the damn thing. I'm not building it tomorrow, so maybe I can let the two versions exist instead of forcing one to win tonight. Showed the library assistant both drawings and got asked which one I would lend my mother. Unfair question. Very effective. Still kept the other sketch because the way the tubes meet is nice to look at.

Mom rode her bike over to Sunday dinner instead of asking for a lift, and she was pleased with herself in this very quiet way, talking about which street she'd taken as if reporting an ordinary errand. I wanted to inspect the bike, ask whether the brakes felt right, the usual. Instead I mostly listened to her explaining the route. She's spent years getting everybody else where they need to be. Seeing her turn up on something I'd fixed felt good, though I don't think that was the part she wanted praised. She had done the riding. Told her the hill was no joke and she said she hadn't gotten off once.