I got on the ice at 5:30am this morning and ice danced. Then I taught a student at 6:00am. My student was half asleep and I did my best to jostle her awake by chasing her around the rink while she skated her moves in the field. After that lesson, I skated again, and had a blast dancing the Paso Doble, Killian, and Westminster Waltz with my fabulous coach. The point of this run down, is to address the fact that I was skating for an hour and forty five minutes.
In any other sport, if you're exerting yourself for an hour and forty five minutes, you usually get a pretty good sweat going and some body parts start stinking. I don't know if it's the neutralizing effect of the cold air, or the fact that ice skaters are perpetual roses forever glowing, or if skaters inherently lack stink and sweat glands- but as a whole, ice skaters don't usually get that stinky or sweaty. There are exceptions though- like skating your long program back to back.
But, for the past eighteen years, I never once thought I had stinky feet. NEVER. But, this morning after I took my skates off and I was stretching, I caught whiff of something that was not particularly pleasant. I don't know if it's just that my sinuses are finally clear after two rounds of antibiotics or if my rose like qualities are wilting with age, but I smelled something noxious- and it was most definitely coming from my feet.
Despite, the callouses, corns, pump bumps, and a cyst on my ankle, I've always thought of my feet as perfection, at least in the smell department. Boy, was I wrong.
And then of course, this made me think of writing.
As writers, we're always striving to be better. Every edit, every rewrite is so that our writing can be the best that it can be. And sometimes, you think you've hit the mark. You've made that manuscript as perfect as you think you can make it. And sometimes it is. And you get that agent or book deal. But then, there are those instance when you get that agent critique, and it's brough to your attention how much your writing stinks. And it's ok to stink. If you're not stinking then you're not trying, and if you're not trying, then you're not going to succeed as a writer.
So even though my feet smelled pretty rank today. It didn't bother me because tt just meant that I was skating hard.
NOW....on to Name That Cat.
Due to my crazy schedule, my kitty, Sasha, who I also affectionately call Bing Bing, Sash Master, and Bootie Tasker, spends a lot of time at home by herself. I used to make up for it by letting her snuggle with me at night. But, since I'm seriously allergic to cats, the snuggling left me stuffed up and gasping for air. So, I decided instead to find a friend for Sasha kitty. My vet friend has been keeping a look out for potential mates for Sasha, and this is who she found the other day stranded in a gutter, desperately needing a home.
Look at that preciousness. Do you guys have any suggestions?