Numbers

ONE - the number of scheduled days off of school last week, due to a holiday.

TWO - the number of inches of snow we got last Tuesday evening/overnight.

THREE - the number of appeals on my desk at the moment. That will change soon.

FOUR - the age of this really really 'OMG-I-want-him' cute OTTB (Off the Track ThoroughBred) gelding I found on a rescue site in Suffolk,VA.

FIVE - the number of school days missed last week due to a combination of Federal holiday/snow anticipation/actual snowfall.

SIX - the number of days since my last run (again).

EIGHT THOUSAND, NINE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-TWO - ideas I have had for art-making.

ZERO - the number of ideas I have actually done something with in the last few weeks.

A MILLION - the number of horse-for-sale ads I have looked at and found nothing for me.


I'm having a hard time enjoying things. Maybe it's the seasonal blahs, although I love winter, or maybe it's because of a seemingly-constant stream of chaos, conflict, and conundrum since, oh, October. I feel like every time I get the psychic desk cleared off, there's just more piling up in the inbox. Good grief, does it ever end? Is this what 'your forties' is all about? The constant managing of crap you wish you didn't have to deal with, while you tell yourself over and over that you have to "put your big girl pants on" and "get it together, someone out there has it worse than you", or "you'll look back on this and laugh", or my personal favorite, "you should be grateful/happy/whatever that this is all you have to deal with". I want to punch those helpful advice-givers right in the nose. Screw you, it doesn't matter what anyone else has to deal with. Making those kind of comparisons is something I have been trying to stop myself from doing for years. Oh, and since the kids just had an unexpected week off because of (what really is a teeny amount of) snow? The ever-helpful Perspective Offerer: "I know people who have lost their kid who would be thrilled to have this time to spend with their children. You should not complain!" Shut it. You have no idea what my life is like, or how much I love my children, just like I have no idea what it's like to lose a child. And I hope I never do.

I struggle to want to run, to want to make stuff, to ride, to do anything besides waste time on the internet. Heck, I don't really want to do that. Granted, it's been insanely cold the last few weeks, and that is enough to cause anyone except the most die-hard winter people to want to snuggle up on the couch. I know it will get better, but it seems like each hurdle successfully leapt just gains me yet another one to jump.

I guess I'll just keep jumping. Otherwise, I'll bang my shins and fall on my face.