I Don't Even Want To Post It...

But I'm going to. Thankfully, my Dearest Joomy has gone to Nigeria. Elsewise I would be worried that she would march right here to CowTown and slap me silly.

Last September, I wrote a number of posts about the MooseHunter.

I don't normally post that much information about the people I date but I think the number of posts I put up about him speaks volumes.

Last October, I continued to write about him.

In November, I resigned myself to the fact that it would never work out.

And then in December, this happened.

There was another Are You Kidding Me?!?! moment back in April, which I didn't write about because I figured that, by that time, it was so ridiculous I couldn't bear to mention it lest there be judgement from my trusty readers (Hi, Jooms!). Blah, Blah, Blah, and suddenly it is hunting season again and I get an inbox message from him regarding a certain bull moose he removed from the bush up North.

My drive to and from work is made up of my passing his equipment on the road as he harvests corn and suddenly I'm wrapped up again in this whole situation. My heart is aflutter, and every time he flashes his headlights at me on the highway I feel like I'm going to pass out.

We may or may not have another date coming up tomorrow night and my mind is racing. I don't know how to extricate myself from the situation should it be drawn out and painful. I don't know how to react should the situation result in what I want it to result in.

Fuck You, Cancer...

Almost four years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I wrote about what an ass her surgeon was here and about my own fears of medical procedures here. I didn't write much about cancer but I did know two things: it sucks, and the treatments are hard to get through.

Because of this experience, I've innocently and ignorantly thought that this was what cancer was like: It is really, really sucky, and then it ends and you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.

I haven't written very much about my childhood best friend on this blog. I did write this post four years ago as I was expecting her to visit my appartment in the big city all those years ago.

In that post, I mentioned her mother. Her mother was a wonderful figure in my childhood, one who I admired and who I thought was very, very cool.

A year ago, my childhood best friend's mother was diagnosed with cancer. I did my best to support my friend T, and the cancer treatments ended. Hurray! Life could go on as normal!

Two months ago, her mother was again diagnosed with cancer. T (Which is what I call her in real life... My T) told me about her mother's state and level of care and I was nothing but confused. When you get cancer, you get treatment, right? And then you go on to live your regularly scheduled life.

Right?

A little over a week ago, I was at my first horse show with Sargeant and my phone kept ringing. I didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer. The number kept calling and after the show I was left alone with a beer, my thoughts, and my ribbons and the phone rang again. I answered it and it was a voice I didn't recognize saying "Amanda?"

I didn't know who it was so I answered as though I knew who it was and the voice continued to say "I'm sorry to bother you when you're riding, your dad said you were at a show. I'm sorry to bother you..."

And I recognized the voice as my T. The girl who was my main person from the age of four through twenty two. And I knew it was her but it didn't sound like her and she continued to speak

"But my mother died this morning and I didn't want you to find out from the papers. You can keep riding, I know it's important to you..."

And I froze. I just kept saying "What? What!" into the phone.

I said I needed to be with her and to sit with her so my mother and I immediately left the barn and my mother dropped me off at her appartment. We sat in silence, numb and scared, together, drinking diet pop and smoking cigarettes, tears rolling down our cheeks in a state of terrified wordlessness that I cannot describe.

My best friend lost her mother. The girl I grew up with no longer has a best friend, a confidante, someone to shop with and someone to tell all her thoughts and fears to. Her mother was someone you could have beers with, someone you could tell about the guy you're dating, someone you could joke with, someone who made you feel like you were the smartest person in the world.

She always laughed at my poorly placed jokes, she always told me I was the smartest person she knew. She was always on my side, always in my corner and I could tell her just about anything and it wouldn't stun her. And no matter what I said, she supported every word of it. But this is not about me.

The girl I spend my childhood and teenage years with has lost the most significant player in her life.

I have no idea how to support my friend through this, how to say anything that would mean anything of value. I don't know what to do except to sit beside her in stunned silence because this is not what was supposed to happen. This wonderful, exhuberant, intelligent, caring, hilarious woman is gone from this Earth and my friend will never talk to her again.

I've deliberated over posting this since I heard of her death. Since I've known that she is gone I can honestly say that there has been an emptiness inside me, thinking of the horror my dear friend is going through.

What a rider looks like:



The Berry Queen gave me a vest and in the fall, when you're a rider, you must have a vest. You need to wear layered clothing because when you start out, you're freezing, and once you've worked yourself into a sweat, you need to be able to take your layers off without pulling things over your head. Enter: the perfect vest. It is down, it is red, and it fits like a dream. I just feel like such a real rider when I wear it that I had to post it on my blog.

And then you have myself and Sargy-Pargy Pumpkin Pie getting ready for a lesson.



Have I mentioned that I love my camera person?

I Just Can't Believe I'm Here...

My life has become fantastic all of a sudden and I'm not sure what to do with it. (That is not to say that my life has not always been fantastic but certain stressors have existed over the past few years that have left me feeling rather overwhelmed).

I want to run screaming through the streets about how everything has turned out. I have finally landed that job that I thought I would never, ever get.

Sargeant and I had another ride tonight and I can't get over how well I'm doing with him. While I do enjoy Sargeant he is a little... well, he's a little powerful. He's kinda strong. He likes to go and leave me feeling like a passenger waiting for him to slow down, only he doesn't really slow down of his own free will.

Since my lesson a week ago I've been working on our transitions and I can't get over how well we are doing with them. I haven't been turning into a terrified slab of jelly on his back every time he does something and when I have a ride like I had tonight, I feel like I am on top of the world.

I am just so excited. I am excited to start living my life the way I wanted to live it, the way I've been craving to live for the past several years. I get to ride, I get to sleep at home every night, I get to sit on my couch, I get to socialize when I want to socialize.

I also have my own living room now that the Clifford Cave has been rejuvinated. Yesterday I gave Dixie a Thanksgiving bath, thinking that I would be thankful for a Beagle who doesn't smell like a combination of the creek, fish, mud, decomposing raccoon (Her favorite thing to roll in), and barn. I washed her thoroughly, starting out with dog shampoo and then giving up because it just wasn't cutting it. I then proceeded to wash my Beagle using Pantene shampoo and conditioner and OH MY WORD. Her hair has never shone so brightly.

After Dixie's bath, I used the blow dryer on her which left her feeling less than impressed. After that, however, I invited her for a nap with me in the Clifford cave and we curled up together, in all of her glorious smelling goodness, and slept the way a Beagle and the person who loves her should.

Things are looking pretty good.

Just Another Sunday Night...

I went to Quebec tonight for my seasonal beer run with my dear neighbor friend. He has known me my whole life and often tells me the story of visiting me in the hospital when I was born.

My dear friend has had the opportunity to work at one of the more known stables in my region and, as a result, knows all of the girls in the area who ride. He told me tonight that he doesn't know if I have the drive to ride competitively or not.

Ouch, but at the same time, honest. I'm kind of lazy and if you know me, that's not an understatement. We had our weekly small, resonsible fire, a few of our Quebec beers, and I made my way back home.

My mother and I watched Heartland together and I must say that if you are a horse person, this show is a riot. I love Canadian television and I love Heartland.

The show is about a girl named Amy who is a bit of a horse whisperer. I do love a good horsewhisperer, I must say.

And in the show, she nuzzled up to a horse she was working with and I thought about Zydo and how much I miss his nose.

I miss his face. I miss his nose. I miss kissing his face late at night. I miss squishing his nose in my hand and I miss him licking my hand once he has eaten all of his carrots. He would lick my hand for hours after I fed him a treat, hoping that another one would appear. I miss that look on his face when I would drag the hose in front of his stall. He would be all like, "Oh my goodness, there is something slithering there, clearly it is going to kill me!". And then he would calm down and I could sit with him while he would drink his water.

And I am so lucky at this point in my life to have Sargeant. I see him three or four days a week and he lets me kiss his nose and he lets me pet him and fuss over him.

But he is not Zydo and he does not do the things that Zydo did and I miss it.

I am trying not to dwell and I am trying not to be sad because everything that happened had to happen.

But sometimes I just miss my boy.

Oh, right...

So I suppose the last couple weeks have been sort of hectic and I haven't been able to post any real pertinent information. Somewhere between working, riding, going through a breakup, and applying for every job on the face of the Earth, I lost touch with my blog and forgot to share this tidbit of information.

I have been applying to jobs fervently and as the job I've had for two years is now ending, I've felt like a complete loser. I have a university degree, a college diploma, and three years' worth of experience working with some of the highest needs children that exist.

Applying for jobs to me is like trying on bathing suits. It always ends in tears because I'm thinking, do I look that bad? In job searching, I often think of my qualifications and experience and I think, do I look that bad on paper? Does the fact that my body is quite literally covered in scars and bruises from the work that I do mean nothing?

Will nobody ever hire me?

I went for an interview in the heart of the city three weeks ago. I hate driving to the heart of the city and I hate the bureaucratic bullcrap that accompanies applying for jobs. In most cases, union rules state that every position must take four candidates. Initially, I thought this was great because it would give me a fair chance at a job. In reality, I've discovered that usually when I go for an interview, the interviewers already know who they are going to hire, but they must go through the motions to accomodate the union rules.

Four thousand, six hundred, and twenty seven interviews later, I was feeling pretty deflated. I did agree, however, to wake up on my day off and drive into the downtown core of the city nearest me, get lost on one-way streets, pay ten dollars for parking, and go for a freakin' interview.

I was angry that I was even there the whole time but I bucked up, answered the form questions as best I could, was very frank an honest about my abilities working with this population, and left feeling like I was on the moon.

I always leave job interviews thinking that I am on the moon. Typically, the next day, the interviewer calls me and says that I came in second to another candidate.

This time, however, the interviewer called me and said that I had a position.

After years of trying, my dream job has arrived. I leave the house every day and I am back by four p.m. I never had to sleep at work. I never have to be physically attacked while at work. This corporation will never bounce my paychecks.

I have the rest of the month to work at my old job and then I am FREE to work like a normal human being works. I honestly have no comprehension of what this will be like. I have never, in ten years of working, had a day job. I have never not worked late into the night and dealt with cold, snow covered roads at midnight. I have never had my weekends free from Friday at four through till Monday at seven.

I am so excited about this: I can ride three evenings a week, take lessons every Saturday, and sit on my butt every day after four from now on.

And my butt needs a lot of sitting to feel like it has reached its full potential in life.