Vegas, burning bright

September '09, I got a nice little horse for free. Didn't pay a sweet dime for him. He was a 4 year old ex-racehorse, Thoroughbred, standing 15.1hh and cute as a button. I was told he was unrideable, that I couldn't even tack him up, as he was such a nutter. Not so! He was fully tacked up twenty minutes after the trailer was out the driveway and ridden walk/trot/canter three days later.

In a gory situation that I won't go into detail about, he rapidly lost weight and condition and, to put it bluntly, started to look like hell. So, my boss from the barn where I work hooked up the trailer after I started crying at work one day, drove me to the barn where my horse was, loaded him into the trailer, and brought him to what is now 'home'. That was December 9th 2009. It's been a long journey, but he is finally looking like a normal horse! It is time to start working him to build muscle in the right places, and get him going as a nice little hunter.

The photo above/right is him on Dec.10th 2009, immediately after arriving at the new barn.

The photo above/left is him on May 10th 2010. A world of difference.

Incentive- do you understand that word?

I had very good reason to send off a rip-roaring bitch of an e-mail to somebody I hate, anyway, the other day. It felt so good to get it off my chest, despite the threat of calling the cops. And somehow being made into the villain in the situation, even though SHE is the one with NO respect for boundaries or other people. Not to mention she's a pug-fugly slut.

In a nut shell, I told her if she didn't respect some boundaries, as an added incentive (and here, I insulted her by asking if she understood the word) I would rip out her own hair and use it to throttle her if she didn't.

Well. She talked to our 'mutual friend' and threatened to call the cops. But didn't. It would be my luck to get the same one who did my psychological evaluation this time- he would follow routine, then drop me off at home, laughing. Looove the bicycle cop. Awesome dude. Oh, yeah- she was all like, "I have an IQ of 132, I don't have to put up with this shit!"

(Not that IQ is relevant, but mine is 146).

I don't care what IQ you have. You can have an IQ of 209 and still be a dumb bitch.

So peace. If I see her at the bar. She won't have eyeballs left with which to see.

I'm not normally a violent person, but my limits have been tried, tested and pushed to the max. And I'm DONE taking crap from disrespectful, pushy people who take advantage of your niceness. I'm not naive- I KNOW what's going on. Don't act like I'm stupid... thats the worst part of all this. Either she thinks I'm stupid and wouldn't know, or she just doesn't care and is every bit as disrespectful and whore-y as I thought.

(Did I mention she's pug-fugly?)

The almost horse

I went to look at a horse today, off the tracker for $500, gorgeous horse, only off the track for two weeks.

So we decided we liked him and went out to the car so I could call home and write out a cheque.

And she sold the horse to somebody else who was looking at him after me, as we were writing out the cheque.

I'm so utterly disappointed and turned off of shopping by the whole episode.

The seller made a big deal about how she didn't want to waste her time and gas money to get there to show us the horse, she was only showing to serious buyers- we were serious, I had a cheque IN MY HAND. So she was, in fact, the one who wasted our time, gas money, and my emotional energy.

...
.......
Sucks.

I am accidental

Think about this one.

Maybe I'd like a sonnet, too. Or flowers. Or even a night out, to be invited out, to actually be involved in your life again, instead of just slotted in around other people. Mingling is not a bad thing. When I only see you once a week, of course I want you to myself. Maybe I do NOT want to hear about all the nice things you did for your ex's. Or how you just found the phone number of the girl you were supposed to call before your first date, then lost. It's been like, three years since that now, so I guess that hope is lost, but it still stings to hear about. So many variables. I feel accidental.

My hair is all gone, I feel like a less hot Sinead O'Connor, with a man-face and I just fucking hate it. Now maybe it will grow back in not fried, and I'll have a chance in Hell of not having a mohawk for once in the last four years.

sljdfsdsflkjdoiewrnlkdsjf. Stupid, stupid, stupid boys.

Spirit island

I grew up on this island. My grandfather witched for water with a forked hazel stick, and sometimes found unmarked graves off of unkown trails in the woods with no names.

There aren't words for this place, other than 'home'. The mere thought of the island evokes emotions in me left unstirred by any other place, any person, any time.


When I die, I want my bones to lie beneath the fields that enchanted me for a lifetime, where my bare feet knew the soil like a lover. When I die, I want my bones to lie beneath the forests where dying summer light will fall for another thousand years. When I die, I want my bones to lie beneath the dunes that my children will become intrepid explorers of. Until my bones become a part of the earth that bore and shaped me, because an islander always returns to where she came from. And I will bear the footsteps of my children on my soul, and give to them the wonders of the North.

---

'I am the last of the open spaces.
The frontiers of my heart are greater than the West,
The fields and the forests and the plains,
The islands, the oceans and the lakes.
Be kind to me,
For I am an aging earth,
Who bears the weight of generations.'

Bra shopping and nude shots

Since when are beer bellies hot?
Since never.
>.<
But skinheads, pirates, and alcoholics are all in the same bucket?
Odd.

I succumbed the other day to spending my hard won money on stupid fucking bras. Actually got fitted for once in my life, and had to buy... *drum roll* 34D. Ouch. I've put on way too much weight. 40 pounds since I got home from England. Gross.

(Apparently, I'm not compassionate or emotional. I know I'm not good at consolation, but do not accuse me of not feeling emotion. THAT, my darling boy, is YOU. You're often robotic. I'm sick of these head-games. Can't you feel my love in my fingertips on your shoulders at three o clock a.m, slight smile on my face, joy coursing through my veins? Why do you have to ruin everything?)

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