Back from BerryLand...

My time at BerryLand this year was short, and if I dwell on that fact for thirty more seconds today, I might just curl up into a ball and weep until next year. My time at Berry Season was traumatic and stressful for those around me. I was plagued by nightmares and anxiety until, on Thursday, I was simply exhausted and had no more anxiety to give. The night previous to that, I had ground (Grinded?) my teeth until I woke up in the morning with bleeding gums, and I thought to myself, HEY! Maybe I should wear that fancy retainer I got two years ago to prevent this very type of situation.

Fortunately, I had it packed and was able to wake free of bleeding gums. Sadly, not so free of headaches and a stiff and crackly jaw. There was a spot on my leg and a spot on my arm that appeared to be on the verge of hives. Fortunately, I staved those spots of hives off with a nice, cold, refreshing beverage of my choice.

Oh, being a raving lunatic! How I love thee!

I returned home tonight to greet my horse. My wonderful, tall and handsome horse who greeted me by throwing his giant head over the gate and nearly knocked me unconscious with his unwieldy jaw. He was full of energy and dragged me through the mud into the barn.

And then he was in his stall and he nuzzled his sweet face up next to me, and I saw with horror the condition of his shiny, well-muscled Thouroughbred body.

He was coated in mosquito bites from one end to the other such that his entire coat resembled ... Well, something very, very bumpy.

I was glad for all the rain we've gotten this year for a brief second, because it would be nothing short of cruelty to animals to place a saddle on top of those hundreds of mosquito bites. And I can't imagine what the cruelty to animals people would think if I put a saddle on all those bites and then placed my giant, unwieldy butt into it.

I like this. My horse has an unwieldy jaw, I have an unwieldy butt.

We are clearly a match made in heaven.

I doused him heavily with bug spray and plan on doing more of the same tomorrow. If it weren't so damn humid out, I would purchase him a fly sheet for summer wear. But the last time I searched for a blanket for my oversized horse, I nearly bankrupted myself.

Sigh.

The quick edition....

Berry Season has gotten off with a blast... of cold wind and hideous rain. And I'm not sure what you're supposed to do when you inform a customer that your operation has closed and they refuse to leave, but I'm working on that. I know that it is astounding that most businesses keep what are frequently described as HOURS OF OPERATION... We all just need to accept and move on.

I experienced a rather terrifying experience the other day. So I'm dealing with that. Mostly in the form of weeping in the Berry Cave. I walked in tonight and informed my co-workers that I was over it. Their only response was "Thank God. We were getting tired of hearing about it."

And I'm tired of thinking about it.

My birthday came and went without a hitch. I'm now 24 years old. I'm cool with that.

I wish I had something more interesting and witty to say.

That Much Closer to 24... And Berry Season...

I will very shortly be celebrating my twenty fourth brithday with lots of fruit, drinking, guitar playing, and possibly a bad case of hives.

I do believe that I am having a life crisis of sorts. I really want to say a MID LIFE crisis, but at 23, I don't think I have yet reached the middle of my life.

And I must say that I'm a little bit sad that my life crisis has no name.

I'm having a no-name life crisis. And when you think about it, that sort of sums up the parts of my equation quite nicely.

Jooms says:
it IS a bit morbid, especially with your own 25th birthday coming up!
Jooms says:
gosh i remember when you were 21
Jooms says:
in fact...are you sure your'e actually turning 25? this seems a bit sudden
Jooms says:
i'm not even trying to be funny

Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
I'm TWENTY FOUR
Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
Sheesh.

Jooms says:
how can 4 years have gone by? maybe i thought you were 21 but you were 22?
Jooms says:
wait

Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
Well, Turning twenty four

Jooms says:
you're turning 24?

Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
YES

Jooms says:
oh brother

Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
DEAR GOD

Jooms says:
YOU'RE A DRAMA QUEEN
Jooms says:
good heavens
Jooms says:
LOOK AT YOU MOANING ABOUT QUARTER LIFE

Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
I forgot if I went to your birthday last year, and YOU IMAGINED A WHOLE YEAR OF MY LIFE
Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
Honey, if I make it to 96....

Jooms says:
you have a year before i'll take your woes on that topic seriously

Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
DEAR GOD, what if I stay alive until I'm 96?
Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
I need to smoke more.

Jooms says:
haha...i expect you to make it to 100 so...

Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
And drink more, clearly

Jooms says:
hahaha
Jooms says:
you suck

Amanda: I no longer believe this tripe.... says:
I love you

Apparently, not too many people are taking my no-name life crisis that seriously.

I'm not sure if I should be overwhelmingly relieved, or overwhelmingly upset.

Regardless, I'm sure I will make it through this birthday without a scratch (Or, more hopefully, without scratching, because another case of hives on my birthday will surely do me in for good.)

Bad at Being a Woman, Part 3,862....

As most of you know, last November I chopped off fourteen inches of hair in a desperate attempt to A) make myself presentable B) No longer be held captive by hair that is long enough to entangle itself in EVERYTHING UNDER THE SUN and C) Attract my future soulmate, so that we can fall in love and live happily ever after.

Two of those items never happened (B and C, for those of you left wondering) and for a short period of time, my hair was quite presentable.

It was a process that started very early in the morning, this making myself presentable. I would wash and condition, then towel dry. Then I would work myself into a sticky sweat blow drying and poufing and teasing and curling under. Then I would apply a serum to kill the frizzies and straighten, and let me tell you, my hair has never been so shiny or coiffed or stylish.

After about a month, I realized that this making myself presentable task was A) Cutting into my sleeping time and B) Frequently causing me to be late for appointments. I also noticed that I HAD NOT YET ATTRACTED MY SOULMATE, and as a result, around February or March, I gave up on the coiffing and straightening and seruming.

Since then, I have simply been letting my hair air dry after a quick spritz with my Infusium, and things have worked out relatively well since then (Although, I must make note here, that the ending of the coiffing did not result in the finding of my soul mate, either.)

But now the time has come, that my hair is simply unruly and unmanageable and just plain not attractive. It gets stuck in my eyes, it lays on my cheeks, it frizzes at the top, and quite frankly, I'm sick of having hair at all. Further, it often blows in the path of my lighter when I'm lighting up one of my trusty ciggies, and nothing pisses me off more than SETTING MYSELF ON FIRE every time I smoke outside.

Enter the ever-popular life-saver for people like me: The hair elastic. Unfortunately, my hair is still too short to create an actual pony-tail, but fear not. I don't really care that my hair is sticking out behind my head in an unsightly clump that is too short to be cute: it is tied up and out of my face.

If this look happens to entice my future soulmate, I'll be sure to let you know, because it will be nothing short of a miracle.

Bliss...

Yep, I rode today.

The beauty of riding is that you do it for an hour, and during that hour you feel maybe three minutes of perfection.

But its kind of like being on drugs, because you crave and need those three minutes to last longer and longer.



We only did little X-Rails, and a couple verticals. At one point I yelled out, SCrew this dressage shit, I want to ride fences!

Because I do. Hot damn, it was a good feeling.

The Love Affair Continues ...

I have a lesson tomorrow on the Chestnut Trakheiner named Stetson who I've not yet told Zydo about.

The weather man is calling for rain tomorrow (Does that really shock you? The year that I want to ride, all day and every day, it rains EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. That the universe would do this to ME, of all people... is anyone surprised? Really?) and my coach has said that I will ride rain or shine.

Now.

I'm not sure what all I've told you about Zydo's quirks or not (And I'm sure that I have written out every single quirk I've noticed in him in the three hundred and sixty eight days that I've owned him) but one of his quirks is that he does not like to be ridden in inclement weather. He takes special offence at wind getting in his ears and ruffling his locks of rusty colored mane. And its not like I don't understand, its not like I don't empathize right there with him because, hot damn, do I ever hate it when the wind comes up and my hair gets all tangly and unmanageable.

But the last time I rode Zydo in the wind and driving down rain terrified me to the point that I now hesitate if there is a single cloud in the sky.

The fact is that I feel so terribly awful for not having ridden my horse in the last weeks that I want to tear out my hair. (Or break out in hives, which I did this morning. Hurray for hives! And benadryl cream!) Sadly, the weather has not been conducive to my riding, regardless of my fears of riding IN the rain, I can't really ride AFTER it has rained, either.

And so, I justify my love affair with the Chestnut Trakheiner named Stetson because he lives in the glorious land of sand rings and excellent footing.

I'm just a little bit concerned that the first time a raindrop lands on Stetson's butt, I might be pitched into Never Never land.

Sigh.

That Friend...

The winter that just passed was a little bit rough for me, and I was just going over some of the events with a friend.

There was a night where I was in an individual's apartment, and I knew that night that the relationship with that individual had come to a close. Only I was an hour from home and without my car, and so I was stranded in this location with nothing but a cell phone.

And sometimes I wonder about fate: if fate exists and if so, what for. Because for some reason that night, my cell phone rang when I most needed it to ring, and it was Mal. She talked to me for hours, for so long that the battery on her portable phone died. And when the battery died, she hung up, charged it for ten minutes, and called back. We went on like this for about three hours, with the battery dying and her calling back as soon as it had enough charge to hold a few minutes' worth of conversation.

I was stranded and crying and unable to sleep, in very close proximity to someone I had just broken up with. And his name was added to a very long list of names of people who I have unsuccessfully dated; people who are not suited to dating anyone but somehow end up dating me.

And I feel -- quite often -- that I have really lost the game in the dating scene, that I have gone through so many traumatic breakups and upsetting relationships that there is simply no point in going further, no point in hoping for something better.

These bouts of troublesome dating are an ongoing theme in my life, one I want to work on improving greatly before I end up married to some schmoe who can't walk and chew gum at the same time. (Although, if that were the smallest worry of someone I dated, I would probably be a happy girl.)

But then I realized that there is another theme here, that there is a theme of people stepping in and helping me pick up the pieces, and I think, Hey. Maybe I'm not so poorly off altogether.

Maybe I'm not so poorly off at all.

The Last Day...

Friday marks my last day at my work placement for college, which means that five years later, I am officially done school. I now have a Bsc. Soc.; CYW behind my name. That's right. I am the proud owner of NINE LETTERS behind my name.

I don't necessarily feel like a better person because of it, but hey! I should be qualified to work at all kinds of nifty places after this.

I also have a Friday evening and a WHOLE Saturday off consecutively. I plan on shopping with SuperNan, gardening, and fixing up some things around The Ranch in celebration. Like some of the Manitoba Maples that have collapsed over the years. Only really, they haven't collapsed, they've been mercilessly struck down by my father, who has a problem with Manitoba Maples. Those damn trees are the bain of my existence, only because he has such a hatred for them seated in his soul.

I would love nothing more than to ride my horse all weekend, but the weather here in Canada hasn't been entirely cooperative. In fact, after this winter (In which we had approximately eight hundred and sixty seven feet of snow fall) the spring has not been forgiving at all. It has rained and been cold, and in turn I have been miserable.

The mud is up to Zydo's ankles in the ring, not at all suitable for riding at a pace faster than turtle. (That's the slow gear on tractors, for those of you who don't know. Turtle gear and rabbit gear. And I really, really want to ride in rabbit gear. Sigh.)

I'm doing my best not to let the weather get me down, because the weather is one of those many, many things that I can not control.

But if I COULD control the weather? I would totally make it rain for one day each week, and be sunny and hot the rest of the days, and it would never, ever rain when I was feeling cold and grumpy.

All Alone on the Ranch...

My parents have left me, a practice they've taken up now that my brother and his wife have had a set of twins. I got home tonight and faced one of the most terrifying experiences of my life: I skipped happily down to the barn to feed the horses and wish them sweet dreams of clover and Reed Canary Grass, and upon entering the barn?

Not a horse to be seen.

Of course, in my mind, the only plausible explanation for such a thing as an empty barn would have to be horse thieves and I immediately panicked and started searching for the tire tracks of the trailer that took them away. (Because everybody's dream horse-snatching involves a lame Thoroughbred and slightly crazed Arabian. Duh.)

I spent a number of minutes wallowing in the fact that I would now be up ALL NIGHT filling out police reports and helping the detectives photograph the crime scene. Because of the field I work in, I no longer worry about the remifications of what happens in a crisis: I simply think of the paperwork. And I imagine that a double horse-snatching would create HOURS UPON HOURS of paperwork.

This is ten minutes in the life of a crazy person, and I guess that Yes, I am still a crazy person. But the missing horses (Who are actually right now having a camp out in their pasture because they refused to come in) didn't make me break out in hives; or burst into tears; or tear my hair out, lay down on the floor and weep for hours on end.

So I'm a crazy person who's going to be ok.

Because that's what I am. OK.

On The Topic We No Longer Speak Of...

I haven't written about my emotional state in quite some time. I'm not really sure why: perhaps it is that I no longer feel entirely comfortable telling The Internet what's up with me.

I quit taking my CrazyMeds sometime in April. Maybe it was March. I'm not sure. But it's been a while, and you know what? I'VE BEEN JUST FINE.

I have to say that the first phenomenon in no longer being medicated is crying. I've started crying again, and I don't look at that as a bad thing. At first crying for me was almost euphoric. I spent some time seeing an individual this winter, and after I had determined that we could no longer spend time together, I did not cry. Weeks later, off my meds, I could cry about everything.

I weep in happiness, in frustration, in agony, in complete and utter joy. One time this spring, a Bad Thing happened to my dearest friend, and I wept for three days consecutively.

I have to say that I was so overcome with joy every time I cried because I WAS ACTUALLY ABLE TO CRY, that my tears would occasionally be short lived and I would be happy again. Three minutes of crying equals forty five minutes of joy.

For a period of weeks, that's how it went. Weeping, glee, weeping, glee, weeping, glee, sleep.

The night that I spent three hours crying because the farrier hadn't arrived in time for me to ride my horse kind of spoke to me, though. And after that night I stopped crying, because sometimes weeping inconsolably because someone is late for an appointment is a little over the top. (But only sometimes. The rest of the time? Entirely appropriate.)

I've started trying to be a grownup and face what makes me feel the way I feel. It is hard to take responsibility for what you've done in your life; it is equally hard to accept the things that have been beyond your control.

The hardest part for me is to not think catastrophically. Apparently, that's what I do. I won't be able to find something to wear to work in the morning, and then I'll be thinking of how my coworkers view me, and then all of a sudden I'll be hyperventilating and picturing myself homeless under a bridge. And I'll lay down on my bed and cry, thinking that I'm destined to end up a toothless, homeless, smelly person who hasn't conditioned her hair in weeks because I can't find a pair of pants to put on.

Part of staying sane has involved me putting myself on a regular laundry-doing regime, because otherwise I would start every day in the fashion described above.

I'm not sure any more where The Crazy fits into my life. I'm sure it will pop up again; I believe that a time will come when I'll need the assistance of my trusty CrazyMeds once more. But for now I'm just me being me, unmedicated and in my glory.

Five more days....

I currently have five more days of doing my work placement for college AND working at the group home. Then I'm going to be working AT ONE PLACE, and one place only.

I have three weeks until I go to Berry Season, and I'm already feeling a little mopey that I can't do the whole thing. I love Berry Season. I get to hang out with the Berry Babies, play my guitar with the Berry Queen and SuperNan, drink beer at the end of the day, and occasionally break out in hives after being yelled at by crazed fruit buyers.

Joomy mentioned something to me the other day that has my mind whirling.

You see, she recently ran a race (THE WHOLE FREAKIN THING) to raise money for a cure for Diabetes. Diabetes is Joomy's pet cause because her family has been affected by it.

Well, she mentioned to me that she is considering running a race for Breast Cancer as well. And, seeing as I have been directly affected by breast cancer, I'm thinking of joining her.

I admit, I have ulterior motives. For example, I could use to do some running to work off those excess beer pounds. If I worked a little harder on my physique, my riding would improve. I'd like to be a little more fit and shapely for the summer, and of course, being fit and healthy improves one's life span. (Of course, so would eating a vegetable now and then and not smoking, but really, who's paying attention to these things....)

I'm also thinking of actually being able to SEE Joomy in person. Words can not describe how much I absolutely love her, her sense of humor and her insights into my life and her never ending supportiveness. If we were training together, perhaps we could meet to jog every other week. Running AND companionship! What could be better?

At any rate, I can't commit completely right now, because I don't know what my work schedule will bring, or if I even have the energy to get off my butt or if I'll be free the weekend of the race or if or if or if....

But, the thought of doing something like this is definately on my mind.