I’ve been in a mood lately.
Everything’s fine. I’m fine. Horses are fine. We’re fine. We’re all fine here now, thank you. How are you? Luke, we’re gonna have company…
But I digress.
I’m not depressed. No gray cloud hovers over my head.
I’d say I was recuperating, if I had done anything to recuperate from.
It’s partly politics. There is so much anger on both sides. We seem to have misplaced the concepts of reasoned debate and civil civic discourse.
Stuck is the best way to describe it. A degree of inertia that would ground the Space Shuttle.
I want to do something. Leave my mark. Help humanity. Write the great American novel, or at least a Hugo-winning one. I’ve always been more Hugo Award than Nebula. But that would mean writing something other than a blog post.
As for the horses. I’m stuck there as well. In saddle seat, I’ve done an abundance of Academy but am unwilling to commit to suit. Driving’s great, but any serious training or competing will involve extensive interstate travel with mountains of equipment. Oy, the equipment.
With Rodney, part of me never gives up hope. That part often gets shouted down by the voices of frustration and despair. Progress with Milton requires a truck, which has been the plan since my butt hit the ground [2014: Universe, 2015: Whither?]. I’m as shocked as you at how long this has taken. See above remark re inertia.
I hesitate to say anything. I should count my blessings. I know good things can be taken away in an instant. I should STFU. So many folks have actual problems. OTOH, these are not productive lines of reasoning. Attempts to foster gratitude trigger the guilt hammer instead [A Look Inside].
Movement is usually the best answer. Onwards!
Thank you for reading,