In A Day's Work

Worked on my car all weekend. Now I have silly muscle aches from standing on tiptoe reaching into my engine. The muscle in my arm I use for turning a wrench and scrubbing counters is sore too. *sniff*

Honestly, though, I don't feel whiney, I feel the sweet ache of accomplishment. It's good to work with my dad, and my moments of sheer stupidity are balanced by small successes. I'm good at aligning valves, I guess. I want to say it's because I'm good at fine work, reading tables, stepping through slowly, blah blah, but maybe I shouldn't? Maybe by describing ourselves too neatly we fence off possibilities? Make a piece of good work look backwards instead of forwards?

Thought a lot about music, too. I'm liking rougher music than I used to. More of the blues...

[Same game.]