Thanks to a generous contribution from Karen, I have just purchased my tickets to go home to Redding for President's Day Weekend. Part of me is really happy to say that no one who reads this cares, as none of my friends remain in Redding.
I am kind of ridiculously excited to go skiing, even at the piddly ski park that is Mt. Shasta (compared to, say, Bachelor or Tahoe). One of my old managers asked me if I had any hobbies, and I had to say that I didn't. Then he said that that was impossible and started listing off things that could be hobbies: reading, acting, writing, skiing. And it occurred to me that all of these things are things that I do, but they're just normal parts of my yearly routine, and I don't really count them as hobbies. Ok, so not acting so much anymore, unless you count the performances I put on for Aaron to get my way (which I do. Oscar-worthy, I assure you). Anyway, I've been skiing literally since I could stand up on two feet by myself, and I totally take it for granted. Unless you are a portion of the population who skies for a career, I am a better skier than you. I can ski anything, anywhere, anytime. I was skiing double-diamonds when I was seven (ask my dad, it's a funny story that ends with me bursting into tears at the end in spite of my getting down the hill just fine. I've always been a drama queen). Anyway, I rarely ski more than once or twice a year anymore. In case you didn't know, it's freakin expensive! I borrow my mom's ski stuff and my dad is a ski patrol guy at Mt. Shasta so I get on the mountain for free and get to bypass all the lines and everything. It's a good thing.
Here's a reminder to myself to talk about moving out for the first time (for reals, not just to go to college). I'm low on content and must resort to writing about things that I've already documented, but with the added benefit of hindsight.