I don’t know if I mentioned it before, but I took the entire month of October off. No horses, no nothing.
I wrote. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. Okay, I did a few other things, too. Explored the city. Settled my son into his new school. Went for walks in Prospect Park. That sort of thing. But I mainly tried out a new routine – what if I was full-time writer? What if I got up in the morning, took the boy to school, and then went to a cafe and wrote for a few hours? Then what if I went home, wrote for a few more?
It was fun, at first.
But you can’t take the horse out of a horse person, can you? You can’t change us. Can the leopard change his spots? Of course not. And while I thought, briefly, what a delightful change! My clothes don’t smell like horse! My boots don’t have manure on them! I can wear them places! I can stay up late at night! I’m a writer! Oh the delight…
It didn’t really last.
Because, you know, it’s not like having horse slobber on my sweater ever really bothered me. It’s not like having my ponytail smell like, well, a pony tail, ever really upset me in anyway, or like I ever shied away from going into a public place with manure on my boots.
So it was an experiment, and it was a failed experiment. Because there is no life without horses, no life without hay or horse slobber or even manure. The nagging bits of it, you just have to cope with. I hate going to bed early. I hate getting up early. I do my best writing in the morning, and that’s when track work takes place. Oh well, too bad.
Obsession must be sated, and no one knows obsession like horse people.