Early this morning I went out into the freezing rain and slush to go write. My street hadn’t been shoveled and I have no winter boots. It took forever to make it around the corner, slipping and sliding and trying to keep a hold of the umbrella in the wind. I held the umbrella in front of me like a shield. It didn’t work so well. Sometimes I was pinned in one spot by the wind, unable to step forward or back, close enough to the curb to get splashed by cold mud. I got my fancy coffee. I went back out. By the time I made it to my writing spot, I had my coat, scarf, and face spattered with chocolate-flavored coffee and a mangled umbrella that wouldn’t close. I guess I just really wanted to write. Sort of endearing, really. If only I could be so tenacious every morning.