For some reason, I dreamt last night of repairing a washing machine. I’ve never repaired a washing machine, but it was clear the washing machine in the dream needed mending. Just as I was getting frustrated with a clever — and completely unworkable — solution involving old building blocks and bungie cords, my father came in from the garage in that energetic going-to-get-it-fixed way I remember. We spent at least an hour cursing like pirates. In the end, though, we fixed it.
I think that’s the happiest I’ve been in months.