Sick

We are off to Killington for a long weekend of skiing. According to the nice fellow in the store where I rented equipment for my daughter, conditions are supposed to be "sick." Tons of snow, and sunshine - it's like a skier's dream, apparently.

Here's the thing about skiing. When I'm on the slopes, every bit of stress melts away. I took up the sport in my thirties, and my job at that time was teaching middle school in the inner city. Folks, that career carries with it quite a load of stress.

However, I couldn't think about rowdy students or in-class food fights on skis. While I was struggling over the moguls or trying to avoid the  snowboards who always stop to sit in the snow right at the crest of the big hill (why, snowboarders? why?) I couldn't stress about the parents who were never home, whose numbers were disconnected, who were neglecting their kids. I was too busy trying not to bite snow.

Now my career is writing. It's similar to teaching in some ways; I'm still trying to connect with an audience that doesn't necessarily want that connection. You don't have food fights in my office, though, and for that I am truly grateful. 

It carries its own load of stress. As an Indie author I'm grabbing every opportunity to write and blog and review and edit, and it's overwhelming at times. I love it, though. I sneak down at 5 in the morning to work, I love my job so. If only it paid!

But, if I get up my nerve to ski Superstar this weekend at Killington, then I won't be thinking about you. I'll be struggling to keep my butt intact.

You'll be my number one again on Tuesday, when I get to go back to work, to a job that in its own way is pretty "sick."