In my own personal utopia, work would be a three-season activity, limited to those times when there is no snow in the hills. But life has a way of expressing it’s own opinion, often in an insistent way.
Midweek ski days are rare for me, even in years when my workload is sane. Still, by the time Zach texted me about skiing the biggest winter storm of the season, I had plans to hookup with Stella.
Tuesday the flatlands were shutdown by the storm, and I was the only one who made it into work. My brain was on overdrive juggling different projects, trying to clear the decks, for one day.