Tonight was my last night of writing class. I am not there. I am home. The fact that I am home seems a small wonder in and of itself. I left The Nerdery at 4:55 and pulled into my garage at 7:41. Usually it takes me 20 minutes to get home, 30 minutes on a bad night.
For the first 30 minutes of my commute I was immersed in guilt. I loved this writing class and I feel awful for missing the last class. This is exacerbated by the fact that Hypster Mom’s story is being workshopped tonight and I missed it. Boo.
Oh, and I was the banker for our Grumpy outings so I am sitting here with $50 of ill-gotten booty. Now I officially owe half the class a beer.
But I am home and that makes me happy. Ever since the Great Hillside Crash of 2006 my winter-driving phobia has one grown worse. I try to push myself a little every storm. Friday, I went to the grocery store while it snowed. Today, I stayed at work even after it started snowing (even though I wanted to run for home as soon the first flake fell).
But two white-knuckled commutes (one to The Loft and one from The Loft) was just more than I could bear. So now here I sit, warm and safe and not feeling as guilty as I thought I would.