palace of winds

Yeah, so that part where I wasn’t as sore as I expected? That part turns out to not be true. Seems like every time I get up from my desk I’m stiffer than the last. My poor abused ass. And quads/thighs/etc.

And wow, suddenly and viscerally I miss horse riding. I remember when we first started out my sister and I would come home from lessons and sit on the couch and put our feet up on the coffee table (filthy mannerless children we were) and watch in fascination as our legs trembled of their own accord. Never before and never since have I had that happen — worked a muscle so hard that it shook unstoppably.

It’s the horses I miss. It’s the perfect quiet clear utter peace of closing your eyes and pressing your face into that warm neck and just breathing. There is no other such clarity, not that I’ve found. I step into a stable and it all just melts away. I miss my funny affectionate old boy, he with enthusiasm for all creatures.

And I’ve become unexpectedly melancholy. I hadn’t meant that at all.

Work’s nearly over. Which is good, because my eyes feel dry and abused. Too much staring at a screen all day. They’re all blood-shot, god knows why. At least the burn on my neck’s faded to a thumbprint size. I got a new waving iron at Ulta this past weekend. I ought not to’ve, but it was on clearance for $17 from $89 and it seemed too good to pass up. We’ll see how much I use it in the next few weeks; maybe I’ll end up taking it back. Maybe the burn is a sign. I’ve never been a big believer in signs, though. Unless they suit what I’d like to believe in the first place. I suppose that’s how everyone is. You see what you expect.