Promise of a New Morning

Heck, I'm nothin' special. Sometimes I wonder why I'd even bother writing on the blogger. I'm beginning to think it's something a writer can't help. You just "need" to do it. Maybe because I never had a daughter or a son. I've missed out on a lot, I know. Sometimes I just need to communicate, to whoever it is, whoever might read my postings, simply just because.

Today I got up earlier than usual. Each new morning brings with it a special sense of promise. I used to have to haul ass (excuse me) before the sun came up, and drive about an hour to get to the center of the big city, to park my car in the garage, and ride up 20 floors on the elevator to my law firm, to my desk, to my work. Day after day, my young life speeding past. It was something we had to do, everyone has to work. But it was perhaps one of the hardest things I had to deal with in my life. Making myself sit still and focus on the boring tape in my ear, typing away as fast as I could, making sense of otherwise senseless nonsense.

These days, I am free. I say that with a certain amount of guilt, yet also a certain amount of exhilaration. I have had to fight and scheme and plan for these free days, not really knowing what will come in the years ahead. Should I be doing more, should I abandon lifelong little girl dreams and come to terms with my limitations. Or should I ignore limitations and continue to dream big, and plan big. Knowing myself, it will probably be the latter.

This morning I've got two little fat rat terriers snuggled up in my comforter (where they're not supposed to be). My roommate left early for a visit with a friend, and both pups ended up right on top of my bed like clockwork. He leaves, they immediately come in here to be with me. The two cats, Cherikee and Paleface have been in and had breakfast and are back out again. Little wild cats they are. So much to see and do out in the big yard. Bugs, and birds, squirrels, even snakes and bad wasps and such. Far more interesting than watching me type.

Nights are hard for me. Usually by then my back has kicked in with a steady broken feeling deep in the middle part. My doctor won't prescribe pain medicine, so I carefully work through my day, doing my best to avoid directly making it worse. I slowly but surely continue my practice. Stretching, moving, reaching, more stretching. A sad attempt at meditation. The docs have me diagnosed as bipolar. Besides cancer or something horrible, I can't think of a much worse diagnosis. Sure the depression that lies right beneath the medication is a deep sink hole of sadness to be strictly avoided. It's just not me, not who I am anymore. Now I'm a mean old survivor, a crazy woman that never gives up, never gives in, with a huge heart for animals, but not much toleration for useless people, and they seem to be everywhere. The good news about bipolar is that the manic side, when managed, can be quite wonderful. Whenever I feel unlimited happiness, I can't see how that's a bad thing. My problem is finding the middle. The gray area. For me, pretty much, it doesn't exist. So I take the pills and pretend I'm just fine.
With the promise of a new morning, there's nothing but excitement and good things to enjoy, from my point of view. But then I'm easily pleased, and I don't get out much...

I want to get a horse. But everyone says one horse is no good. Has to be two. They need a herd to be happy. I laugh when I read about a "herd of two" referring to when you ride. They also say a horse can bond with a goat or a donkey. But that seems unfair and odd. So to have one horse, I must have two. See, instead of writing in my blog, I'd be out feeding her, combing out her tail, playing with her mane, talking to her. Horses are wonderful, amazing creatures. God was having a really good day when he made horses.

I recently read an article aimed toward "rookies." It named off all the multitude of things I need in place before getting a horse. And it's not just little things. Everyone knows that life takes money, money you don't always have. So you get it, you save it, you juggle things around. But can a poor woman like myself honestly even consider owning a horse again? Maybe you ask why? Because owning a horse is a lifestyle choice. It gives you a certain freedom not found anywhere else. When you sit astride your beautiful strong creature, the feeling of her muscles, her breath, her legs, it is simply amazing. There's nothing like it on earth. And when there is a bond, a connection between horse and rider, the feeling is hard to imagine. It's hard to put into words. For someone like me, that has certain physical limitations, it becomes a dream thing. A dream to come true. I just want it to be as good for the horse, too.

So this morning, I'll go out to the make-believe barn "area", and I'll mow some weeds and pray for grass to grow. I water a lot. I love to water. It makes me happy to see things all green and growing. Thank God for water.

So before I go, before I leave this world, I intend to have a barn with at least a couple of horses hanging around. I'll load feed for them, and haul hay, I'll buy a small horse trailer to pull behind my chevy truck. And I'll go on trailrides with other horse lovers, and meet cool people and enjoy my adventures with horses. I may be old as the hills themselves, but it keeps me going. I may not have found the perfect husband, and at age 55, not likely to either. But I can plan and arrange to find my forever horse. Probably older like me. And we'll have a fine time.