Paulo Coelho says, “The adrenaline and stress of an adventure are better than a thousand peaceful days.” 

Normally, I’d agree with old Paulo.  Today?  Not so much.

I’ve had adventures in my lifetime.  Due to my Inner Drama Queen even events that aren’t exactly adventures qualify because I make mountains out of molehills – both good and bad.

Today, I’m hoping the mountain is a molehill.  I have to get down my hill. Have to.  I will be stark raving mad if I do not.

I have been out one day in the past two weeks.  One day.  I am stir crazy. I am beyond stir crazy.  I’m eating everything in sight, talking to myself, and even considering cleaning. 

Getting down the hill in snow, I always say, is an adventure and the adrenaline always surges. It’s not for the faint of heart. 

The eight inches of snow on my quarter mile dirt and gravel, steep incline of a driveway with the dangerous s-curve hanging over the pond has compressed.  It warmed up enough yesterday to melt the surface, but it froze again in last night’s cold temps.  It will be ice.

Due to the laws of gravity and the ability of a Subaru to crawl out of ditches, I can almost always get down the hill. Sometimes it’s a sideways slide from top to bottom, which is an adventure.  Only if the snow is over the bumper am I stuck up here.  It’s the getting up the hill that is the problem.   I haven’t been able to traverse the perilous slide down the hill because one cannot slide up a hill when one decides that one is ready to be home.  One being me.

Damn gravity. 

Now one might be tempted to say, “Oh suck it up, Connie and just walk up the hill.”  To that I say, “I don’t know about that.” 

Oh sure, I used to walk the hill all the time.  Sometimes for weeks. Often, I would be stuck at the bottom of the hill when snow struck and had no choice if I were to get home and feed my dogs.  On more than one occasion, however, when the road was too icy, the dogs went hungry, and I stayed in a hotel overnight.  Both of the dogs are not likely to starve over a missed meal or two. 

The hill is probably, with a stout pair of boots, easily walk-able right now.  The problem is I cannot easily walk.  The remnants of long COVID:  shortness of breath, fatigue, and neuropathy lead me to believe I could no more walk up that hill than I could fly.

So, yes, I’m dreaming of a peaceful day when I can drive up the hill like a big girl with her big girl panties on – when there is no adventure in the traversing of said hill, and the only adrenaline expended is that of two joyous puppies greeting me at the door.