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THEY REALLY DO Once I started riding, I could see why it had taken me so long to get up there. See, you just can’t be worrying about anything, about your life, when you’re riding. And worry and obsessive thinking and all sorts of mental imbalance were a huge part of my life when I got the urge for the horses. I was in a marriage that was largely unmanageable, and the amount of head space that trying to manage it took up… well, I think I would not have been able to put it all aside in order to give myself the gift of something else to think about.
Having said that, the whole thing about the horses that I’ve learned, since leaving the marriage and taking up the riding, is that there is nothing — nothing — better for taking your mind off your own mind than the horses. So I wonder if, perhaps, I could have managed things better had I been riding during all the drama and indecision and fear. I don’t doubt that things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did, but I do wonder how different I would have been had I had this healing, empowering thing to do in the midst of all the chaos.
Eh. No regrets. I am a firm believer in the notion that things happen as they are meant to happen, and here I am, with this enormously beneficial outlet for my crazy. It has stood me in good stead the last several weeks, as I re-enter the world of relating to men. Read the rest of this entry »
So, talk about a buzz kill: I had Tango for my private lesson on Thursday, and we went great together, a combination of some fairly massive improvements on my part re: leg; of watching a lesson mate ride him really well on Tuesdays; and of the penny finally dropping as regards how to behave as we approach a fence. Oh, also: not wanting to get turfed off onto my head like the last time I rode him and he refused two fences in a row.
No refusals on Thursday, and got some ‘Very good!’s out of Ruth [wish I had a recording device, I'd make that my ringtone] and the sun was shining, it wasn’t as freezing cold as it had been at 7am when I left my apartment, and I… it wasn’t a walk, nor a strut… okay, maybe it was a strut, I strutted down the lane, thoroughly delighted with myself, to wait for the bus… and wait… and wait… Read the rest of this entry »
I’ve got this bruise on my forearm, and again, harking back to the art school thing, I should be able to put my finger on what it is.
My arms have been rather colourful since I’ve been wearing the body protector [am i doin' it rong?] — I generally get them on my biceps, naturally on the inside, so I guess that’s okay, means I’m keeping my elbows in and down. This new one is on the inside of my left forearm, and I suppose I may have gotten it on the dismount? I’m wearing a Jack Ellis, one of those that close in front with the velcro and the buckle, the latter which catches on the stirrup leather and yanks the whole thing up to my chin. I’ve been trying to roll over onto my back and slide down, and this only works occasionally; yesterday, it didn’t.
So I’ve got this bruise, presumably from my ungainly exit from the saddle, and it’s kind of weirdly bright: there’s a nimbus of the usual yellow around the edge, but the heart of it is this greeny-blue, not like turquoise, but — oh!
I knew I knew what it was, and also, when I was trying to figure it out, I kept seeing the dresser in my friend Wendy’s neighbour’s place. Helen has a teal dresser. Just like my bruise. Or vice versa.
REMEMBER THAT?* A key to a locker! Read the rest of this entry »