Taking LibertiesLiving for the moment is basically me

It’s been far too long since my last post, but maybe it’s a good sign that I am keeping busy. I really shouldn’t be doing this right now, because I have way too much work on my desk that needs to be resolved right now, but I’ll worry about it later. It’s my favorite time of year, when the leaves are changing and the weather is unpredictable. The colors this year are amazing, so full of golds, yellows, and reds, I just love it. The leaves are hanging on much longer since we have had so much rain, and each time I drive up 795, I am awestruck. We could do with a bit less rain, and more sunshine, though. I am thinking we are going to turn into a rainforest soon, and could really use an indoor ring to ride in.

Everyone is so needy lately, I wonder if it just because it is getting colder. My lists of things to do every day grows longer by the minute and it is increasingly aggravating. Any hope of spending the holidays in Holland is rapidly disappearing, which just depresses me, but what can I do? People are calling needing horses, or lessons, or whatever, and this is not a good time to be turning anyone away.

I called a friend of mine to help me with the townhouse. She is going to come over next week and tell me what needs to be done to get it sold. My husband says in three years he will be ready to leave. I can be ready in three days, but whatever. I just want somewhere big enough that my dog can come and live with me, instead of having to be at the farm every night. We can’t seem to agree on the next step, so I have no idea what will happen. I just know that owning a townhouse is not enough for us, that a house is more appropriate at this time in our lives. So, in the meantime, I will have to replace counter tops and paint some walls, all of which will probably be hated by a potential buyer and be ripped out as soon as we leave. My brain is wired too differently to make other people happy.

I was trying to think of the last time I really laughed hard at something funny, and sadly I can’t think of anything. I used to laugh my ass off all the time. I would laugh to the point of making myself cough, and have to drink something to feel better. I miss giggling in a place it’s frowned upon, like church. I hope that doesn’t mean I am just old. J makes me laugh, but usually at the totally wrong moment, like when I am injured. Was that the last time? I guess I need to get out more, have awkward moments,  and make fun of myself more often. I used to think of pranks, and jokes to play on people, but that has all but evaporated. The world seems too strained lately for humor, and my imagination is frozen or something. I think the computer sucks the life out of me sometimes, especially when I just thought about googling pranks to play on people. I need to steal someone else’s idea? I need to spend more time with T and T, they always make me laugh. West Virginia is not exactly next door, though, so I need another plan….

Fer is about to pop out a baby, sending me into a whole new world of anxiety. If she can do it, why can’t I? Am I too immature? I think I lack the just do it in my life. I can’t just do anything, I have to procrastinate, or wait to be told what to do. I like it when other people are making the tough decisions, and just go along with it, and it’s not like I am incapable, it just doesn’t happen. So, every day I should make a list of just do it’s and see what happens…..or make it happen. There I go again. Jesus, this will never work. I am too lazy. And yet, I feel so gratified when I do accomplish something important, you would think I would keep returning to that feeling. Well, I am going to start with finishing the paperwork on my desk, and maybe filing the bills that have been paid but never put away. I have an hour before my next lesson.

I can take a breath. Finally. Taking the girls to New York has exhausted me, yet motivated me. I had fun, the pics were great, everyone behaved, and the horses were fine. A little more broken by the end, but whatever, a month off for them following it all, so some time to recover.

Spending a week in Martha’s Vineyard has been wonderful, yet odd, to say the least. There is a herd of turkeys in the backyard. I can’t sleep worth a damn. School is too fast approaching, and all the problems that come with it are keeping me up at night. I feel like I am eating too much, drinking too much, and not exercising enough, even though my husband got us so lost trying to find a beach (on an island, mind you) that we were on our bikes over two hours before we found one. Seriously, I couldn’t feel my legs or my crotch anymore. Fun times. It seems to be taking longer than usual to adjust to a new place, but that’s probably because we are getting old.

Every town in Martha’s Vineyad is peculiar in it’s own uniqueness. We are in Vineyard Haven, which at first glance is perfect, and easy going, yet when you get to know it, you discover it is set in it’s ways, loathe to change, and doesn’t care what you think about it. Laws have not been changed since the depression era, and there is no alcohol served in any of the restaurants in town, due to stubbornness or someone’s idea of a good joke. One can bring a bottle of wine or beer to dinner, and have the restaurant open it for you (for a fee, even a twist off) which seems ludicrous to me, but whatever. What is worse is that this town is within walking distance, and the other towns require driving. Dumb luck, once again.

We rode our bikes one day to Edgartown, a whaling village that seamen built up when they grew rich killing whales and other various sea creatures, and made all the houses look alike, white or grey two or three stories with black shutters, a front porch, and most importantly, a white picket fence. All the houses are outlined with this fencing, only some shrubbery being added by later residents. This strict code is borderline offensive, crying out for a shade of blue, or even an open yard. I couldn’t stand it, even though the shops were clean, nice (expensive), yet different from the rest of the island. Shoppers were more serious about spending their money in this town.

Oak Bluffs was entirely the different end of the scale, with dozens of pastel like clapboard houses rising up to shout out at the sea and the surrounding area. Once settled by religious people on a retreat, these faith followers decided in time to trade in tents for real residences, but were not letting strict rules dictate how they created their new homes. Most people call them gingerbread houses, and there is a darker, somewhat hippy ambiance to Oak Bluffs, and alcohol is more easily found along with hundreds of scooters or bikes to rent. Celebration of chaos. The ambulances come out of the town and have to pass by our house on a very regular basis, that would make you wonder if you were back in the city. It has a grungier feel to itand I didn’t mind roaming the streets, but I was glad we weren’t staying there.

Yesterday we had a real treat, and were able to hook up with some friends of ours who had a key to the most exclusive beach on the island, only open to residents with enough money to throw away, that they think nothing of dropping 175k for the privilige of sunbathing. The beaches were prettier than anything we had seen before, nary a rock to stub a toe on, and seemingly to go on forever. My husband was dumbstruck, saying over and over how the guidebook told him to not even try to get there, it was impossible, and if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it. We were with the bride to be and all of her minions, in bikinis, lolling about nibbling on lobster sandwiches, pesto with flatbreads, Corona light, or perrier (if we chose), and fresh fruit from the farmers market. It was obscene, and I was half expecting to see a celebrity walking a poodle along the surf, but tried not to get too distracted with anything but sunbathing. We all enjoyed the day like it was out of an English novel, and dragged ourselves back to the house, tired and a little dampered to have to pay attention to another reality.

Today we saw a different kind of beach, at the end of the island, that boasts of huge cliffs, menacing and colorful, yet a little out of reach. You could stand on a tip to view the most impressive and highest cliff from above, then walk a few miles to view it all from the sea. The change in perspective would kind of make me feel small in comparison, but I was distracted a bit by the silliness of humans once again. Aptly named Gay Head beach, this section of the island allows nudists to roam about jangling their ding-dongs or boobs out in the sea air, lolling about in the water, on the sand, or on the rocks, to the inconvenience of cliff seekers. It would be one thing if the people stripping down to nothing were actually attractive, but it seemed only older, fatter humans feel the need to be in the buff. It’s hard enough to forgive an old man for his multiple layers of cellulite, but when you add in the pasty white ass to the picture, it gets very hard to forgive.

Each experience, to me however, is a good experience. Once you don’t have adventures in your life, you become very boring.

Tonight we dined with our friends in Oak Bluffs, and were able to witness an island tradition called Illumination Night on the Vineyard. We dined at a delicious place on the main street seated right by the window, and watched as hundreds of people strolled around looking at the houses and boats all lit up with Japanese lanterns swaying in the breeze. None of them were particularly rowdy, just enjoying themselves on a near perfect late summer evening. I rather enjoyed every moment, caught up in the weird magic that brought everyone together. It was perfect.

Only a couple more days left including the wedding that brought us here in the first place. There is a hurricane threatening off the coast which should make the weekend interesting. I have been working on the website all week in the coffee shop down the street, wondering why I agreed to do it in the first place. I hate creating it. It is complicated, time consuming, and I know everyone has high expectations for it.I talked to my mother, now in Maine on vacation, but she just sounded bored and depressed, not much to do on the compound except read. Why they didn’t add other places to see is beyond me – she felt obligated to stay with friends I guess. I tried knitting with some new alpaca wool from the island, but screwed it up after two dozen rows and had to pull it out. Apparently the First Family is arriving, making everyone nervous and excited, but I just find it irritating. Now we have to go to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow evening, and can’t get the car to the mainland before 9pm. Maybe I’ll go on an earlier ferry and leave my husband with the car. I guess that would be mean. I have to try a horse on the island, yet the people are being difficult to pin down for a time they can see me. Duh, I am only here 72 more hours. It will be sad to go home for sure, and I will regret not taking more advantage of being away, but I am anxious to get some work done at home and get ready for the new school year. I feel like I am really behind, and if I get behind, I won’t be able to do the things that are really important to me on the side(like mountain biking!), so let’s get on with it already! Maybe I should cut back on the coffee. Maybe I should just shut up and go outside.

It’s been a little bit of a whirlwind these past few weeks, and I am not even sure I should be working on the computer since I desperately could use more sleep, but I have been thinking about being so remiss lately, and thought I would take advantage of the girls being otherwise occupied. We are in a hotel room in Saugerties for a wonderful horse show, and I already miss the routine I was falling into at home, with the return to mountain biking, and riding., and moving about. I had a hard time returning to the trails with my full level of confidence intact, and I was in a bit of a bind. J was in Costa Rica on vacation, so I was left to venture out on my own, a big mistake. I talked myself through the early stages, being careful to get off the bike whenever any kind of obstacle appeared in front of me, but then I just started talking myself out of biking all together, telling myself if I was going to remain being scared to just give up. I was headed into dangerous territory. J had been telling me endless stories about her adventures at Avalon with the womens group, and I was starting to think that might be a pretty good idea, despite the fact she was falling off more often in front of them than with me.

The week after I started back, I headed down to Avalon on a wednesday evening. The temperature was amazing, low 80′s, little breeze, but I was sweating just on the drive down there. I was also making myself a bit nauseous with anticipation. I had only been to Avalon once, and it was borderline disasterous, with me getting lost, heading down the most technical trail with no clue as to what I was doing, nearing tears, and promising J I would never part ways with her again. I also would never do that blue trail again.I was covered in cuts and bruises, my shoes were soaked through from walking over the creeks I was too scared to bike through, and I was exhausted.

All of these memories were swirling around inside my brain as I pulled into the parking lot and spotted a small group of women and their bikes convening by the picnic tables, so I pulled into a space, emerged cautiously from my little Mazda, and started the awkward introductions, and explaining my sudden appearance. Please take pity on me, I am recovering from an injury. They were all very nice, but looking around at their bikes, I was growing more uneasy. Dual suspension, disc brakes, fluid, expensive high end mountain bikes that my homely hardtail with horse stickers all over it was starting to pale to in comparison. I tried not to look, and focused on retying my shoes, but it was hard. They looked so slick and hungry for action, and none of them had a kickstand.

Finally some order was called, with a group of ten or so now gathered. We formed a little circle, introduced ourselves, (I pretended to stretch which I had witnessed one woman doing earlier) and suddenly we were off. Avalon boasts of great trails, but to get to them, you must first climb a mountain which lasts forever and feels like Everest. About 30 seconds passed before it claimed it’s first victim, this poor girl who couldn’t quite grasp the concept of downshifting. I instantly felt better, and passed her easily, as she lay crumpled in the dirt, but the giddiness didn’t last long. The rain had created amazing gullys that required accurate riding and balance, sapping energy needed for the steep climb. I maybe made it a third of the way before my lungs were on the verge of collapse and my legs were begging for mercy, and hopped off, walking the rest of the way.

At the top of Everest, we were all stopped, waiting to reunite as a group again, when the leaders of the little group tried to make a decision on where to go next. I had nothing to offer, so I waited, looking around nervously…and panting still. I barely noticed as we shoved off again, and the others were very good about warning me what was up ahead, steep climb, drop off, log, etc., which would impede my progress or scare the shit out of me. I soon started to recognize parts of the path, and realized the name of the trail had rung a small bell in the back of my head when it was mentioned. Jesus, please don’t let this be the blue trail. Oh crap, I bet it is. I’m on the blue trail. Only backwards. I can’t believe this is happening. I hate this trail. What was I thinking. Is it too late to turn back? Well, that would look ridiculous. I can’t just turn around now.

I looked behind me when we paused about 15 minutes into the trail, looking for the nice woman who understood I may not be able to keep up with the group, and had offered to take me in early, but no one was there. Five more minutes went by, and nothing. Finally, someone else went back to investigate, returning to tell us she had taken the couple of girls who had fallen behind to the nice farm trails, open, and easier to manage. Figures.

We trudged on, or, it was mainly me doing the trudging, seeing how the rest of the group was gliding through the dirt and mud, hopping and bouncing over the logs, sprinting up ascents, laughing and cheering each other on like it was a damn party. It seemed like hours later we reached the end of the blue trail, and I was inwardly laughing at the irony of it all, when we had to pause again for discussion on where to go next. Next? We aren’t going back? We aren’t finished? I think my camelbak is empty. Oh shit, I did not just hear what I think I just heard. The log trail? Are you effing kidding me? Did they hear nothing of what I had said earlier? No one was listening, apparently. This is my punishment, right here, right now.

At first the log trail didn’t appear to be much, but halfway down this little unassuming sandy trail everyone in front of me disappeared over this huge log and drop on the other side. I came sputtering to a stop, and shook my head in disbelief. I stared at the mecca of mountain climbing logs arranged purposefully around the area, very similar (yet, more extensive) to the site of my intitial injury. Well, huh. This day is irony day. They should make it a national holiday. Good grief. I watched as they plopped around the area, demonstrating amazing techniques, and if they fell off an obstacle, they didn’t impale themselves, they bounded out of the way of their bikes and hauled themselves up onto the obstacle to try it again.

This went on for a while, and I watched in amusement, but it was getting dark, which someone finally noticed, so we headed back to the parking lot, encouraging words going all around for all. I was so tired and dirty, but most of all thankful there were no major injuries anywhere on my body. I may have walked my bike more than actually riding it, but I didn’t care. I was still in one piece. I couldn’t wait to tell J about it when she returns from Costa Rica.

Anyway, it was a fun night, and sitting here in the hotel is just bringing back more and more moments I hope I can hold onto. There is little chance of me seeing a trail here, since time is limited, and it appears as if it wants to rain in NY everyday, but hopefully I won’t lose the routine I had before, which was addicting, to say the least. I really need to focus on the show, however, we have so much going on and I need to stay sharp in order to get through it all, with ten horses showing for the next two weeks. Yikes, I’m tired.

What is paranoia, exactly? Fear. To let yourself be afraid, really. I think it’s sad to have to live with paranoia, and don’t understand how people can truly find happiness while being paranoid. Does she love me? She love me not? Does she think about other people? Doesn’t everyone? Is that a crime? Of course not.To act on it might be, but nothing that happens inside your head should ever be a crime.

The reason people want to write blogs or diaries is to vent, to say the most innappropriate things in private, to not offend in public. Or to use your imagination. Or to have a release (like bowling) so you are a better person after realizing life isn’t such a big deal.

I like to write, I’ve always wanted to be a writer, and always wondered if my stories would be interesting to other people. However, if I feel I couldn’t be trusted to put my thoughts on paper, how would I get enough practice to write a novel one day if I wanted to? Even if being a novelist never came to fruition, it doesn’t matter. Trust is the issue here. And having Faith that whatever I may write is not taken out of context, or used against me in any way.

Writing is so much cheaper than therapy. I like to hear myself talk as much as the next person, but when I can express myself in this kind of venue, I feel satisfied I am not boring another human being who really doesn’t give a shit about my lifestyle, my relationships, my food habits, wine habits, travel addictions, or whatever else is on my mind.

I also write because I have a pretty shitty memory, and forget things that happen in life that deserve more than that. I don’t want to look back in thirty years and think I wonder what I did back in the day. Maybe I’ll crack myself up when no one else is getting the joke, just by reading an old entry.

I have defended myself over and over again since the teenage years when I used to write ridiculous stories about compulsive teenagers and weird fictional characters, only to be accused of destroying myself and other people over it. I actually think writing helped me get through my teenage years more than anything else. Others saw it quite differently. Fear would consume my parents, thinking that I was unstable, or needed to be institutionalized, or whatever they thought.

My life is fine, I am happy, I love my parents, love my husband, enjoy teaching very much, love adventure, and am considerably lucky to be where I am today. I know that, and am fine with it. I don’t imagine a life with anyone else, I just like to see myself doing more adventures. That’s all, and writing is one of those adventures, you can yell, scream, pitch a fit, and no one hears you, or cares, or responds. It’s like talking to your cat. I also make a lot of collages, more so I don’t forget certain times of my life that were meaningful. Trips, horses, jobs all get interpreted through pictures and words jumbled together, more for my amusement than anyone else’s. I also think these expressions make you a more interesting person. However, if I am wrong, so be it. I have been wrong before. I’ll be wrong again, I am used to it. That Deloise. What an idiot.

If I hear one more person tell me to stay off the mountain bike I am going to freak out on someone. Who do they think they are? Playing it safe is the only way to go these days, yet you have to endure people bitching about all of the things they wish they were doing instead of collapsing in front of the television every night. At least I was attempting different sports. At least I was trying to have a life! I think playing it safe makes you the most boring person in the world, even if you are the smartest. I would much rather be considered dumb, but have a hell of a time doing fun stuff. I am going to have so many regrets when I am old! Christ I am not that far off! So I am going to scrimp and save, buy the bloody $2200 dollar bike, bike in a race, climb a fucking mountain, complete the adventure race, or whatever I want to do and if I have a torn liver or end up with a broken bone, so be it.  It will have been worth it. I don’t think I need to defend myself, but it has been boiling over for the past week and I just want to scream at everyone.

Good friends have been helping out, however, and setting jumps for me, helping me with the horses and the trailer, and not complaining. Yet. Let’s hope I don’t abuse their generosity.

People are so weird. Maybe I should have pursued some sort of career in psychotherapy to have a better understanding of the human brain. I get a call from one of the moms saying a friend of mine suggested her daughter to come as a working student for a few weeks in the summer. Alarm bells go off, because I am thinking why would anyone want a 14-year old OCD kid with a habit of not being the healthiest in their barn? I already had an issue with her in Ohio and not receiving proper care, what if we have an instant repeat just two months later? Then the mom tells me she will have to pay for her daughter to be there for the allotted time. Pay? Since when do working students pay? It’s not a licensed camp or anything. What the heck? And would that money be keeping her from going to horse shows? On the other hand, the mom might be trying to get rid of her daughter. They have a history of problems together, as most younger teenagers tend to create. I told her maybe we should sit down and think about this for a minute, maybe meet and figure out what some options might be. We set up a meeting for Monday to talk about it. Later today, when my friend leaves a message on my machine saying it was not her idea, but the kids, I am doubly suspicious.

This is probably why I don’t have many close friends. I can’t really say no, since ultimately, it’s not my child, but I also know C has no idea what this family is really like. Flaky and irrational are the first two words that come out of my mouth to describe the mom. And airheaded. I mean, I gave her instructions once to drive the girls from the horse show in Aiken directly west to the airport in Georgia, which should have taken 45 minutes (on one road). Two hours later, she calls me wondering why she is seeing signs for 95. I asked her if she drove east instead of west but she had no clue, only that she was seeing signs for 95. She was in a rental car, no less, which was supposed to be returned to Georgia, and after obviously missing the flights had to just drive home. Wow, all I could do was laugh, and get drunk over it. I couldn’t believe it. What was supposed to be a four hour commute, took two days. The girls were so wound up after that, they refused to drive anywhere with her. To make matters worse, she finally persuades the car rental place to receive the car at BWI(pays the fine), piles all of the luggage into her own car in the park and ride, drives off, gets 20 minutes from home when M (her daughter) realizes her phone has been left in the rental and they turn around and go back! I was shocked the rest of the girls didn’t kill her right on the spot! I would have!  So, yes, I have reservations about a spur of the moment “working student” position at C’s farm. On the other hand, I am not beyond a little “I told you so” to my “friend”. Let her figure it out.

Okay, okay, I was a bit stupid on my mountain bike the other day, when J and I went to Germantown with the Norwegian guy and he led us around the park, then showed us how to do more technical things like jump logs, etc. It was for sure not his fault, I just got cocky about what I was doing and missed the last log. We were doing so well up until that point! We rocked the trail, which was totally forgiving, and no major hills to speak of, so we cruised it in around forty minutes. I wasn’t tired at the end of it at all, although the other two were, and was considering doing the trail again, but J wanted to learn how to jump logs properly. So, we headed to the little area in the woods with logs set up and different heights and got a lesson from the Nor. guy. He was actually really great with us, because we are slow learners, and crack ourselves up when we mess up, so he has to wait for the laughter to subside before speaking again. In the beginning, J would groan or hiccup over each bump and all I could squeak out was “i’m scared”  and it was a good half hour before we could really figure it out. By this time, however, we were getting really tired, and had about enough of lifting our bikes off the ground, so decided to head in. I turned around to catch the last log on the way back to the parking lot, but as I was heading toward it, something didn’t feel quite right. I hesitated, slowing down too much and hit the first part of the log with too little momentum. I tried to pedal, which you are not supposed to do until you are on top of the obstacle, so my pedal caught the log and stopped all momentum. My front tire turned right suddenly, and before I knew what was happening, my body was thrust into the end of the handlebar knocking the wind right out of me, and I flipped over onto the ground, completely entangled in the bike and in excruciating pain. I had no control over anything at that point and was making these groaning sounds that I was wishing would stop, and clutching my stomach at the same time. They both rushed over, and removed my helmet, undid my Camelbak which was pinching my chest, and waited for me to catch my breath. It took a good fifteen minutes for me to stop making horrible noises, but it switched to cursing as soon as I realized how much pain I was in. I muttered ”Fuck” about fifty times before switching to “Holy Shit”. I let them remove the bike from under me, but continued to lay on my Camelbak and writhe around in the dirt. J was looking for my phone to take a picture, but I shooed her off with my middle finger. My vocabulary altered a little to ”I can’t believe I just did that” and ”That was so embarrassing”. And I  really was embarrassed to have made such a scene in front of the Nor. guy I had only met once previously, and was not making a good second impression! Jesus! He was supposed to be our fearless leader for the summer and look what I have done!

I limped back to the parking area, where J loaded our bikes and I cleaned myself up with a towel I had packed, marveling at the dirt that was coming off of me. J suggested I check my stomach for broken skin, so I lifted my shirt and looked down to this perfect imprint of my handlebar right below my sternum already turning a bit green. It looked like a bulls eye. They both laughed at me, but all I could do was groan a bit more, this was not the new tattoo I was envisioning for myself this year! It still hurt, and I thought maybe I might be getting dizzy, so we clambered back into my Mazda, J driving, and the poor Nor. guy going home probably a little disconcerted. J could not keep from replaying the event over and over again, and I was so mortified at the whole thing, but laughing was not helping me. At one point she was imitating me making those idiotic noises, and when I said “owwww, stop!” because the laughter was killing me, she was like “no, it was more like, ehhhhhhhhhhhh” I had to punch her to get her to stop, before she realized I was protesting her discription of me on the ground. This made her laugh even harder. I think I had to cry a little to keep from convulsing. God it hurt. She is cold. We stopped for beer, then returned to her house, showered, changed, and headed for the pool. There was very little else I wanted to do, the more I moved, the more pain I was in. I roasted one side of my body, then went to turn over….yikes! not happening! I tried to dip in the pool to cool off, but when the cold water hit my waist, the tightening of my muscles sent pain searing through my stomach, so I gave up, and after a few minutes sitting in a chair with may back to the sun, we headed back. When I was feeling a bit stronger, I decided it was time to head home, where I sat on the couch and didn’t move until the next morning. When the cat jumped on top of me, I screamed out, sending my husband running for a pillow to keep on top of  my stomach, and preventing a repeat of  that horrible moment.

I did not sleep paticularly well. In the morning, I decided it was a good idea to make sure I hadn’t broken a rib, so after feeding the horses, I drove to Patient First. They weren’t so much worried about the ribs, as the point of impact probably had caused some internal damage. So, they sent me down the road for a ct scan. Sure enough, following the ct scan, I was heading down the road to Sinai – emergency room no less. I had a 4 inch laceration in my liver, caused from the fall, that was leaking fluid into the rest of my body. I had to endure the emergency room with puking patients and drunks for over an hour before being ushered to my own room. My mom and husband sat with me, clearly uncomfortable and nervous, and wishing for immediate answers. We had a great ER nurse (also a mountain biker) who did his best to cheer me up. I was only apprehensive when the intern from the surgical team came in and viewed my chart. He didn’t make eye contact other than to introduce himself, and was gone before we had a chance to ask why he was even there. Eventually I was told I was being admitted to the hospital, and was shuffled around to more spaces until I finally landed in my own room. I told my mom to go home, because she was overly exhausted, but my husband waited for more news. No one had told us anything at this point, just kept taking blood, taking my blood pressure, or hooking me up to monitors. It was pretty frustrating.

Around 10:30 pm, twelve hours after first stepping into Patient First, a surgeon visited me. She told me they would be drawing blood from me every few hours and looking for the count, whatever that means, and if it dropped below a certain amount, I would have to be opened up for sure. Nice news. With that I sent Tom home, and tried to think positive thoughts. Nurses came all night taking blood, and a team of surgeons visited me at some point, but I don’t remember what they said. In the morning, I had a visit from the head surgeon who tried to answer all of my questions, and luckily I was a bit more awake,so could pay attention. He was concerned, but seemed to think I was basically out of the woods, so started to give me warnings about what I should expect for the future. No exercise for 6 weeks. No riding, no biking, no nothing. Swimming was ok in moderation and so was walking, but people could be bed-ridden for weeks on end with this kind of injury. Christ, not good. I asked him about driving, but he responded with “what if you get into an accident?”. My feeling was if I crashed the horse trailer, I would not be that concerned with my liver. I would probably have other injuries. He gave up after a while, and moved on, so I filled in everyone on the status and tried to get some sleep.

I had a visitor later in the day and we amused ourselves with chatter, mainly me making excuses for wanting to do different sports, and how grateful everyone should be that I didn’t land myself in the hospital more often. She grew bored of me after a while, claiming that she didn’t want to pay more than four dollars for parking, so she had better get moving. There were several messages and phone calls, but no more visitors, and it was looking like the hospital was growing bored of me , too.  They were ready to get me out of there. It didn’t happen until quite late, but it did finally happen. I was being set free with the strictest instructions not to let anything impale my stomach and do more damage to my liver. Right on.

Home was good to see, and my bed called me almost immediately after entering the door, but I was gross and needed a shower. I maneuvered around gently, and after feeling fresher, I had to turn in. It was an amazing sleep, I must admit, and I am not much of a sleeper. Waking the next morning, I was really excited to smell coffee. I checked myself before trying to get out of bed, and wasn’t in as much pain as the day before, but definitely uncomfortable. There were a hundred emails to sort through, but my biggest concern was whether or not to cancel going to Loudon with the girls. I hated to cancel anything if I could just stand there and tell them what to do. And I needed the money. I called the girls and told them I would head to school to watch them ride. They got themselves organized, and I drove over, just a few minutes from the townhouse, greeted all of the concerned hens that had heard about my adventure, and settled into the ring. It was not half bad, as they really already know how to ride, and I can just tell them how good they look, point to a few jumps to hop over, and done! We repeated this process a couple of times, then my mother called.

She was wondering why the hell I wasn’t home with my feet up on the couch, and basically ripped me a new one. I told her to come get me for lunch, and to try and calm down, but she was anything but calm. She had told her brother what had happened and he responded with a dozen examples of how that exact fall could easily have killed me instantly, tossing her into a whole new level of worry I hadn’t expected. Lunch was disappointing, not to mention depressing, and I was getting irritated with her severe attachment to me. She was saying things like “you are not allowed to die before me!” and “what if you collapse in front of the girls! they won’t know what to do!” Cripes, they would do what normal people do. Call 911. It’s not like we are out in the wilderness with no cell phone, trying desperately to find civilization! We will be surrounded by nosy people, drawn to drama like ants to food. I am not believing what I am hearing, and wondering if my mother needs prozac. Jeepers, I am 37 years old!

I feel her pain, but enough already, I can’t live with her bugging me every time something goes wrong. She has so much else to worry about, and will exhaust herself over this in no time.  I am still going to Loudon, but I will take the best care possible, have no doubt.

My boss wouldn’t let me use the school truck this weekend to take kids to the horse show, said she needed it for mulch. I hate when I have to get angry over stupid situations.

I took back a client I had fired last year. Times are tough. I have a ridiculous goal of trying to pull in a grand a week. That’s not going to happen. Especially when I am wasting time on a blog.

Apparently only some of us are allowed to teach at school on a holiday, but when I pointed it out, our boss spewed out an email forbidding us to teach on any holiday or snow day. Bitch.

I laughed so hard at this girl making fun of  herself at a party last night by telling stories of her trying to bike and snowboard  with her boyfriend, I almost peed on myself. She has this huge belly laugh that is raucous and loud, we were also laughing at her, as well as with her. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. I think the neighbors were about to call the police on us for having too much fun. She was the best at describing her inabilities to climb a hill, or stand on her board. Her boyfriend had tried to get her to buy the more suitable snowboard for her skill level (0), but she insisted on the board that matched her pants. When the snowboard instructor stared at her board, then back at her, she had no idea what was wrong with the picture, and started whining hysterically that she couldn’t give up her board, so they let her try it. She never got up once. Her boyfriend is a tall Norwegian, ridiculously athletic, and she is…….not. Oh my lord it was hysterical. And God love her for trying!  She will attempt anything, no matter how bad she is at it! She would describe herself (with animation) trying to figure out how to change gears on her bike, and being unsuccessful everytime, changing gears too fast – click click click click click – and panting “why (pant) are (pant) there (pant) soooo (pant) many (pant) gears! (huge pant)Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, click, click, click, click, click. fall over.  I got their email address.

Today brings more rain, which is why I have time to blog, and I am so tired from yesterdays activities, that i don’t mind my night lesson group is canceled. Although it is not helping with the money intake. I need to think of more things to do to bring the cash in. It was suggested that I try riding more horses in the Poolesville area, but I would need to carry more insurance for that. I thought of running an ad in the Eq mag explaining I can school your horse, help make a video, and get it up on u-tube, but I may get all the crazies.

Is it time for an adventure or is it time to work harder?  I cant quite figure it out. Where should I go? Should I work more on the website? How many people will tell me they can’t go to Saugerties this summer? Should I go visit E soon in CA? This rain really sucks. I can’t do anything in it. Except be miserable. Should I make hotel reservations? Should I go for a walk? Does Jason Bourne ever hurt himself in any of his movies? Can I be more fit?I’m going to get more coffee and teach better. Then I am going to feed my horses. Then I am going to come back home and drink wine all night waiting for my husband to return. What a life. I should have gone spelunking. My camelback arrived today. It is raining so much I may never mountain bike again.

I am struggling with being too furious to speak with anyone, or getting too drunk to care. The incompetence that I have just witnessed rips me in half, allowing a demon like figure to rise from my innards, spewing hatred and evil over mankind.

Why should one child be a victim to irresponsibility? My afternoon started with a message from her mother that M was having an anxiety attack and would like to miss her lesson. J then informs me that there was a huge mixup at the airport the night before, and somehow M’s flight was scheduled to have left Saturday, instead of Sunday, normal day of departure following IEA Nationals., so they probably didn’t get home until late last night. The mom then sends me a text that no one had given her her medication over the weekend, so she was a litlle off balance. WTF??????? J refused to accept responsibility, saying she never had possession of the meds, and when I sought out an explanation from C, she simply said she forgot! FUCKING FORGOT??????!!!!!!WHO THE FUCK FORGETS MEDS? This poor kid suffers day in and day out from OCD and acute anxiety, and she fucking forgot to give her meds? I refuse to accept this and in my head I lose it. I have worked so hard on keeping this kid in one piece when we are on the road, or at home, or wherever, and it gets blown to pieces in one weekend from incompetence.

My husband told me there was nothing I could do, which is his usual response, thats nice dear, now shut up and go away. So, screw him. He hates kids with a passion. I tried venting to C, but she just told me I was burned out, and needed to quit working at school. Fuck her, I was just pissed off. Then she tells me M’s mother has been begging her to take her for the summer! WTF?  how is that going to help? What was she thinking? Now, I’m pissed off at her. I don’t consider myself burned out at all – I show up every single day and give it my all for every kid! What the heck is going on? What is wrong with people?

The computer held emails from other parents that had concerns, and now I’m really hating Nationals. Cripes, everything is a mess. All I want is to catch a little break! Sell one horse, even. It’s just not going to happen. I’m doomed to be miserable!

There are way too many things going on, now a house had burned near the farm, killing two people, next door to G’s now ex-husband.

Run! Hide! Gala dinner tonight, class reunion party tomorrow if I get back from Difficult Run on time… Three eventers running around in the rain. Yikes. Needed a mental health day and I haven’t left the house yet. I started watching movies, my husband left for Michigan for the weekend. I don’t even know why. Actually, I am kind of pissed about that. Why can’t I go visit someone for the weekend without him? How is that even fair? Why did I even allow that to happen? I am stuck here cleaning the fucking house, putting his shit away, and its raining so I don’t even want to go outside. Good Lord what an asshole. I am going to stew over this for a while. Damn him. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go. This is why I dream about alternate realities, and the alternate realities become my obsession and reason to wake up in the morning. I go through life not caring about anything, because I don’t believe it’s real. This fucking townhouse isn’t real for me. I hate it. My car is just a mode of transportation, I don’t care for it. I only love my animals. Material things are meaningless. I don’t care about the countertops,  the hardwood floors, the fucking coffee grinder. I want to complete a bucket list, go on adventures, see the world. Go back to Holland. I am so aggravated. I guess I should get out of the house. Fuck.