There are times I hate my job.

To clarify, I don’t truly hate my job and maybe I should term it as irritated with my job.

I thought about this often this past Tuesday night as myself, Rocky our sports editor and several sports fans stood outside for a cross country meet and two playoff soccer games in quite possibly the coldest rain since ever.

The rain was nearly nonstop from just before the Austin Invitational cross country meet late in the afternoon and lasted throughout the two soccer games. At least I got to leave so there is that.

I don’t especially hate every time I have to stand out in the rain for my job. It’s not something I wake up each day wishing and hoping for, but I can deal with it a majority of the time.

That being said, this rain was not a nice soft, warm rain of summer, but rather the cold and harsh rain of fall that whispers “winter” into your freezing ear.

The rain brought with it that penetrating cold that doesn’t really leave you, but rather leaves you thinking about jobs where you stay warm — like being the Dark Lord Sauron.

And true to form, I was still shivering when I got home, a little before midnight, a full three hours after I came in out of the cold.

At that moment it was hard justifying journalism, however, it did justify having Buster, our buffalo-sized cat at home who very nicely jumped up on the couch and curled up next to me, unleashing his nuclear furnace body heat, helping return warmth to at least my leg.

It’s hardly the first time I’ve had to sit out in the cold, rain, snow, wind and I certainly don’t mean to make a martyr of myself for the betterment of journalism. Like any job, those types of things just makes journalism a lot less fun.

I’ve stood out in minus 20 degree weather for inordinate amount of times, silently hating my decision not to go into the Navy like my 17-year-old self seemed to think he wanted to do.

I suppose the idea of people possibly shooting at me isn’t very appealing, but neither is a north February wind carving my face up like a jack-o-lantern. I’m also not sure they would have let me walk around a naval aircraft carrier blaring “Danger Zone,” by Kenny Loggins. I’ll bet the Navy isn’t that fun.

I’ve stood out in sweltering heat with heat indexes well into the surface of the sun.

And yet, like the idiot you are probably guessing me to be at this point, I will run giddily out the front door, complete with pirouettes just in order to chase a tornado. I’ve done that often without so much as a second thought and I’m not entirely sure why.

So it’s become readily clear that I have a love-hate relationship with weather and maybe I can be accused of wanting it both ways. I’m not eating an Oreo cookie without the filling. That’s just silly and complete nonsense.

Unfortunately, extreme weather brings with it those obvious questions: “Hot enough for you?” or “How about that wind?” or even, “you’re not taking any more clothes off are you?”

I’ve always been up-front about my feelings of extreme heat and extreme cold, especially really hot temperatures. I will take a subzero day over high heat any day of the week.

And yes, I am completely crazy and I’ll own up to that. It’s as I’ve said over and over again. You can always put on more layers when it’s cold, but when it’s extremely hot, you can only take off so many layers before it’s illegal. I like our police and would like to think I have a pretty good working relationship with them, but I would imagine me walking down the street, pushing the bounds of decency  with a full camera set-up might strain that relationship.

I’m not ready to test out the stopping power of a Taser.