No, Really, What Am I Like???

Last week, I was heading home after a morning’s lesson, and midday’s horse-reiking, musing out the window of the bus. I thought about my novel, and what I’ve done to promote it, particularly the bit where I went on the TV show [see the Consuming Passions category.] Well, that was something, it made me feel like I was doing something to get my name out there, to get Drama Queen on her feet, and as I ran over the whole undertaking in my head, I had to laugh at myself, I mean, geez, sure, maybe I sold a few copies — I hope so! — but, wow, the lengths I went to, to promote myself… And I’m sure that, you know, I’m fortunate, that I got to be on the telly, and everybody said I was great, but, sheesh, come on, talk about kind of wacky, kind of ‘above and beyond’, and I’d rather try to, I don’t know, maybe just do some radio, or get some kind of signature column somewhere to keep my name out there, but I probably wouldn’t ever do anything like that again—

And then the phone rang.

Rolling Up the Irons

I had promised to write about how I rode Rinaldo properly.

It was a Thursday morning, and I wandered out of the main building and went looking for Ruth.

Paul walked by and said, ‘Take Rinaldo today.’

New Kid in Town

Very exciting! A big flea-bitten grey called Amigo, who doesn’t speak Spanish. As far as I can tell at this stage, anyway. I’m hoping to have go on him once he gets acclimated to the school.

I get a good vibe off him, I have to say. Nibbly in a friendly, curious kind of way, and big, but looks a bit narrow. I haven’t seen him go yet, but it’s good to have a new face around the place.

What To Do on a Horseless Monday

Bank Holiday Monday: had a meeting in town, and then decided to do something I haven’t done for ages. I went to the gym for a swim.

Hadn’t gone is so long, the dude at the desk looked up after he checked me in and asked, ‘Em, so are things working out for you at West Wood?’ Which was the most polite way possible to say, ‘Janie, do you never come here a’tall?’

I hemmed and hawed a bit and then blurted, ‘I go horseriding three times a week!’ I’m not a complete couch potato!

Snap!

BUT NOT AS IN BONE! GEEZ! Tuesday was rather blowy; I’m wondering if that’s what Ireland’s global warming reality is going to be from now on. Maybe I didn’t notice before because I’m only living on the coast for two years. Maybe didn’t notice before because I didn’t spend significant time on a top of a mountain in a tin can of an indoor arena on the back of a large, skittish animal.

Anyway. The above is essentially the head I brought in to Tuesday’s lesson, and whilst I wasn’t completely out of it, I did consistently make some lazy arse turns at F, and at the end of the lesson, during the quick re-cap we often get, I was told that ‘it just wasn’t good enough.’

How’d I Do That?

Since I’m supposed to be revising for that exam, I thought I’d post.

The outdoor was basically a mud puddle. I remembered falling off into that wet sand about a year ago… or less… and immediately suppressed the memory. It wasn’t going to happen again.

We were jumping, a double, and then a fence at X. I love doing that, except for the fact that all the horses, not just Rebel, tend to motorbike around the turn after the diagonal jump.

I’ve gotten my mojo back, jumping Reb, as I’ve mentioned. So I wasn’t too worried; we’d done this very same thing last week, and it was great.

Except that Rebel gets a teensy bit dainty when the sand is sucking at his hooves. He expresses this daintiness by being especially bouncy.

Off we went, over the first, and I was preparing for the second, when something happened, and all of a sudden we were going over the fence sooner than I thought we ought to be, and I was just getting into my jumping position — but we were jumping.

Uh. Well. I was thrown that bit too far forward, and wobbled, but I didn’t fall. I didn’t fall, and I sat back, and managed to get him into a canter for the diagonal straight, and everybody was making impressed noises, they seemed to be really loud, for some reason, and we approached the third fence, and Reb seemed to be going faster, and we took the fence, and he did that thing, that thing that he does when he knows the sand is wet and disgusting: he swerved to the left, then quickly to the right —

But I didn’t fall off. And everybody was really loud now, in an affirmative way, and I turned him around, and I don’t know how I didn’t take a tumble.

I guess my balance has finally improved notably. I was, I admit, balancing too much on the reins on the recovery for that last fence, but frankly, if he’s going to mess with me, I’ve got to do what I can to keep in the saddle. Until my balance improves even further.

Barbara said that instead of taking the three strides I expected, he took two and a half, which was why I got caught out. I felt myself shifting all over the place — but I didn’t fall off.

And, I’m hoping, that it was pure instinct, reflex, that sent me back in my seat and around that turn to the fence at X. ‘Cause… I don’t know how I did it, only that I did do it.

I kind of didn’t want to try that again, but I kind of did, but the lesson was over. Bummer.

Not a bummer: sitting on the buses home with a sandy bum. That always makes for an excellent day.

Coolest. Thing. Ever.

I had been nipping in to Easons, the bookshop I’d lurked around on my book day… oh, you know… just about every day. It’s my northside bookshop, they get a lot of my business, they stock stationery and art supplies and Yankee Candles and horse stickers — one stop shopping, as you can see — and I really wanted to see the book there. It’s ‘my’ bookshop, I’d queued at midnight for two Harry Potters, there, and it was as important to me to see it there as it was to find it first in Hodges & Figgis [my southside bookshop.]

I’d go in and head for Cs, and I was never there. Until last Saturday.

There! And a whole pile of Drama Queens on a table, which I shifted into better position. [I returned two days later, and they had been shifted back. Oops.]

I really wanted to see a stranger pick up the book, read the back, buy it. I was going to miss my bus if I didn’t get a move on. When one of the desk employees came round for the third time to fluff up a shelf, I realised that they probably thought I was going to steal.

I left, legged it for the bus for the yard, and left my book to its destiny.

Pants on Fire: Part II

When I sit on the bus or the tram [not often in the taxis; Dublin taximen are notoriously chatty], I am often writing posts, in my head, telling myself the story of the thing I’m going to write.

Right now? Not so much. I’m writing an awful lot, work wise, which is great, but it’s the sort of writing that’s the problem: theatre reviews, which require the part where I’m actually in the theatre, which is mostly at night, after I’ve put in a day’s work, or a day’s revision.