Boots, cigarettes and coffee; here for the good music, a good man that wants me and a good single malt .
Not in that order.
I'm young but old enough to know better; I'm artistic and romantic, struggling and staggering to keep up with the speed of my own dreams. Sometimes I'm impatient and crass, sometimes I'm the girl in boots and blue-jeans and rose-tinted glasses.
Mostly, I'm just trying to get shit done.
Struggletown; def: A place for a hardened tender-heart.
Sometimes, I am emotionally needy; I need to talk about them and justify it and in turn, will expect you to talk of yours - I am so needy, that mine are just not enough.
On the otherhand, sometimes I am emotionally retarded, almost exempt; rather than feel or consider contemplating, I will perform a whiplash kind of maneuver that will probably hurt your feelings, confuse you, or both. I will tend to get drunk, get randy, and want to kiss fifteen different people, of which seven would probably be people I used to know. I would have probably fucked or previously loved at least one of them. Or both.
I have pure, selfrighteous moments of independence; I won’t ask for help, I will make every mistake possible and take the long way round, but I’ll get there, and be very proud of myself when I do. Sometimes, I get stuck, and I get scared, and I want that person to help me up off the floor.
Sometimes I live in a real world alongside real people with real lives, sometimes I live in an entirely fabricated, alternate universe and cry profusely when these two collide and do not overlap. Oil and water.
I also have moments, like tonight, where I’m thinking of how I want nothing more than someone I used to love beside me. To fuck me. To rub my back and put his hand on the nape of my neck and just lay with me.
I miss being wild. Wild in love, wild in life. I have an innate desire to love and be in love and have it reciprocated.
I don’t think of these things often. Getting my heart beat up does it.
As Townes Van Zandt said, there ain’t no dark til something shines.
Steinbeck said something similar, too.
Whenever it never works out with a guy, I go on a weird rebound routine, which consists of all, or either of the following:
A - I feel the insane need to dedicate most waking moments to either mine or my horse’s fitness and well-being - because I sit there and think about all the time I’d wasted trying to be with someone instead of being with my horse that genuinely likes my company… All of this generally means re-evaluating all of our riding and exercise plans, getting hardcore about training ourselves constantly, and just generally behind hard working guns.
B - Over-hauling my entire wardrobe.
C - Alternates between packing a massive back pack and going for some gigantic hike up a mountain that I know would nearly kill me. Or getting blind, booze-blasted drunk and hustling for a man that I can objectify for a night.
See? Not all of rebound behaviours are bad ones!
Going in for my first day of employment since my Old Man’s business went down, and its not looking flash - the shirt I bought to wear is slightly noticeable that its a size small, part of the ballet-flats have split, and it pissed down upon me in the two minute walk to the bus stop.
At least my hair is still nice. People aren’t going to notice my shoes are wet.
I bought a new pair of leather long boots for going off to summer competitions this year… after trying on, literally, five or six pairs that were all two and three inches too long in the leg and pinched behind the knee, I’m starting to believe that manufacturers aren’t happy to accomodate short-legged-long-bodied riders, at all.
In other news, they’re black english leather and I paid $120 for them, second-hand brand new - never worn because they never fitted my friend. Oh yeah.
I am so genuinely disgusted in at least 90% of the groups on Facebook - one came up in my newsfeed tonight, based around horrible meme’s of Aboriginal people. It’s fucking disgusting and cruel, and dehumanises people.
Sickness breeds sickness.
I’m feeling really good about my decision to quit drinking until the end of the year, possibly re-continuing after I see my family. I mean, I’m hardly an every-weekend boozehound, but lately moderation hasn’t been a concept I entirely understand. At all.
Two doses of alcohol poisoning in under a year, more ‘no-sudden-movements-or-I’m-going-to-die’ hangovers than I can count on my fingers… Yeah, time to detox my body a little.
I’m thinking of taking up boxing, or talking my paddock buddy into some embarrassing pilates classes or something. I just want to have a healthy body for summer when I want to kick my cigarettes as well.
Just trying to reinstate some overall health and wellbeing in my life, you know.