I'm addicted, but I've had to learn to walk away from the car.
Being a 30-year-old spinal-cord injury survivor (with nerve-damage in my right hand) doesn't give me the stamina I used to have, but I get wildly motivated and can't help but layer-up in the cold, get out there, use my noodle, and what's left of my abilities.
I'm very thankful to have this car still, it could very easily have been sold back when I was in an electric wheelchair feeling sorry for myself. The fact that I wanted to wrench on it again one day was a huge motivator to keep up with Physical Therapy etc, so I have to give credit where credit is due: the car gave me my recovery; I can't take my blessings for granted.
...Although I get burned out (fatigue) of two straight days messing with it, when she's only 20" off the floor (HD jack stands) in a drafty, un-insulated shop in the Winter (or the inverse: humid sweat-shop in the Summer).
Being a full-time college student is helpful for not looking at the car for five days after a weekend-thrash though. What's weird is that life right now is like living in two different worlds: there's the progressive, future-minded, hidden-agenda institution that tries to brainwash me all day, then I get to spend a couple days on the weekend absorbed in classic Americana, where sockets and nuts & bolts aren't metric, the smell of gear oil emits off my clothes, and the rumble of a V8 are all wonderful things to keep me grounded and masculine.
In the end, it's a distraction that I'm passionate about, like women, or my dog. I'm lucky as f*** to be addicted to this expensive vice.
