I am . . . disturbed. Violently annoyed. Pissed off. REALLY pissed off. I am stomping around looking for someone or something to blame because it seems like a lot has changed for me in the last week but it’s so …. so …. so damned intangible that I can’t touch it (intangible things are like that. Noli me tangere). I feel seething discontent. I feel that time spent away from the stable is useless. Is it that horses have taken over my internal life (dare I say “soul”? I would but I’ve got my doubts as to the existence same) to the point where I really don’t give a shaved kitten’s butt over anything else? Is it because I just spent too much money on a new saddle? Is it because I am a writer and writers have to seethe over stuff and whine because it’s in the job description? And no, it’s not my period.
I’m not alone about the wasted time thing, of that I’m certain. One of the other riders at my stable let slip about the gaps between riding, “when I have to go on vacation or something.” Wow. Have to go on vacation? Under threat of incarceration? And yet, I’m afraid I’m beginning to understand. With the exception of a recent trip to Sin City (which was actually very relaxing because the place is so fascist that spending time in room sleeping or cuddling with spouse is an excellent alternative to getting solicited by a machine), the idea of vacation is seeming like more trouble than it is worth due to the time away from horses.
I want to ride Gabby AND I’m relieved when the ride is over.
I wanted to take a break yesterday AND I’m sorry I took a break yesterday.
I want to improve my skills AND I want to get on a horse at a riding stable and just plunk-plun-plunk nose-to-tail down a well-worn path in the vast untrammeled wilderness of Central Ohio.
I want to do something else AND spend some time every day at the stable.
I want a clean coat AND I want to smell horse at all times.