Will this give me the kick in the ass I need?

I was just talking to my mom a couple nights ago (yay - I love it when I get calls from my mom! From New Zealand!) about my current stay-at-home-mom blues. She understands me well and recognized my need for a "mommy helper." Some kind babysitting soul that can come in once a week and give me a break. Yes, that is what I need right now.

So thinking about that, I got excited about being able to write again. I dug out all my old exercises and materials and found this piece below. We were asked to write a short story in which every sentence began with the next letter of the alphabet. I'm going to retype it here, hoping it will grease the gears a little. And from here on out, whenever I post something writerly feel free to critique, criticize, lambast, praise, send money, or what have you. I'm pretty thick skinned, and welcome whatever you have to say.

"Almost there," Josh said over his shoulder. Behind him I was breathing heavily.
"Can we stop for a second?" I asked.
"Don't think about it; just picture the powder at the top," he said, not looking back again.
Eventually we would be off this goddamn mountain, I told myself. For six months, since he hurt his knee wakeboarding, Josh had been talking about hiking Big Mountain before the lifts opened. Getting to the top would be the easy part, he would say.
"Have you ever boarded through a mine field," he asked me yesterday, looking out the front window at the fog surrounding the mountain. "It's like BOOM, gigantic rock, BAM, ice boulder, AAAA, crevasse - a fucking rush, dude."
Kayaking Flathead River during the spring runoff, windsurfing the 6-foot chop of the Columbia Gorge, wakeboarding with a 12-foot boom, snow camping in Jewel Basin, Josh did it all.
"Love isn't what it's about, baby," he said to me this morning in the car on our way up. "Marriage, kids, jobs, all for sellouts. No offense, Jane, but I'm all about living, you know, feeling life without having all that obligation shit."
Occasionally he was sweet and caring, like when he was laid up for a week in traction after is hang-gliding accident.
"Put yourself in my position, baby," he said when I asked him if he could change his Big Mountain trip to the following weekend so we could go to my parents' 40th reunion party.
Quitting was an option, I told myself as I continued picking up my heavy boots and putting them down again, trying to stay in Josh's tracks, but struggling to match his long strides. Recently I've wondered about thrill seekers, especially after spoon-feeding Josh for two weeks through his wired jaw. Something must be missing in their lives, like drug addicts trying to replace a lost father or gamblers looking for love in the form of money outside their empty marriages. The truth was, I realized as my snowboard rapped me on the back of the head step after step, I wasn't missing anything important enough to explain my addiction to Josh.
Using my board as a sled, I placed a foot on either side for steering and brakes and navigated the rocky ice terrain down the south face of Big Mountain.
"Very funny, Jane," he called after me when he heard my board grinding over the late fall snow crust. "What're you going to do, wait in the car?"
X-games can keep you, I thought. Yelling over my shoulder, "Find your own ride," I made my way down the treacherous face alone. Zigzagging slowly around the boulders, I imagined my parents in their nice clothes, enjoying the people they loved, and I saw myself toasting them with respect.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone. Love the one you're with.