My feet are wet.

I just spent 6 hours in the cold, trying to get a friend’s diesel volkswagen running. Once we replaced the fuel filter, we got it started and celebrated in a manly fashion.

It came after a day of intense self-loathing. I had been flirting pretty heavily with an old friend, one who had made advances toward me often in the past and suddenly her affection seemed to be waning. Since I am seeing someone right now, it should not have been a blow. But having no clear place at this workshop and feeling old and slow has made me feel barely alive. The car work fixed that for a few glorious moments before I returned unsung and almost unwelcome.

My feet are cold.