I'm drinking a CocaCola (does anyone beside me actually still call it that?) as I type this. And I had two Mountain Dews during the week, which is like, a soft drink record for me. Seriously, I do not drink sodas. Partly for health reasons, but also because doing so most usually results in window-shattering belches and that seems to appall everyone around me and often provokes references to my age and supposed maturity. I mean, better out than in, right? Shrek would understand. But I digress.
There was a reason for the mass consumption of soda. And that reason was INSANITY. Insanity of every imaginable sort. We started out shorthanded. It was just one of those things with moms needing days off to take care of kids because for one reason or another the standard childcare wasn't available. Add to that a load of hay (180 bales unloaded by four of us. Two of which are under 5'5". But we are so badass:) a sick stallion (he's 32, which translates to somewhere in his 90s in horse years) and a vet visit. And that was just Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday brought one more worker, but yet another sick horse, who acted like she was one the verge of dying, yet had no diagnostic symptoms to speak of. Another vet call. This one resulted in a lot of head scratching and sustained concern for the mare who was still quite convinced that death was near. To further complicate that matter, this particular mare makes Vivian Leigh look 'low key' when it comes to high strung dramatics. So it's virtually impossible to discern between when she *thinks* she's dying, and when she's *actually* dying.
It seemed like we might skin by, however, as the Vivian Leigh pony took a turn for the better and began acting like herself again. But with only minutes to go before 4pm, there was an incident at the main barns which to this day remains a convoluted mess of confusion. Considering just how convoluted the situation was, I make no inference as to who was at fault and what went wrong. All I know for sure is that at some point a normally docile and pusillanimous gelding suddenly decided to impersonate Mike Tyson and took a swipe at an employee's ear. Considering what can happen when a horse's teeth meets a human's face/head, the damage was minimal. The incident did nothing, however, to better the day.
Wednesday night, I got a text that the Vivian Leigh pony was maintaining her position health-wise. Then at 9ish, my phone rang. By the time I read 'Jefe' on the screen, I had one leg in my pants. Sure enough, Vivian Leigh pony had nosedived. Yet another vet call ensued (I could actually write another paragraph here about what happened between Jefe calling me and the vet arriving, but I'll leave you with 4 key words and let you imagine it all for yourself Panic Redneck Truck Mud) and by 10:30 it was clear that Vivian Leigh pony was going to get hauled to a clinic 45 minutes away that's set up for full surgery. Have I mentioned it was raining? Yeah. Just to add to the drama, you know. By 11:15 we were on the road. By 12:10 we were at the clinic for ultra sounding. The theoretical diagnosis was colic. In short, a stomach ache. But in horses, there's about a thousand things that can cause colic, and about a thousand things that can result from it. Including death. Plus, Vivian Leigh here wasn't presenting in any remotely normal manner. We left the clinic at 1:30ish leaving two frustrated vets shaking their heads (making a total of four vets who had seen the horse) and a 50/50 chance that Vivian Leigh was going to hit the operating table. Which didn't surprise us, considering that the pony had tons of painkilling/sedation drugs on board (the kind of drugs that are illegal for us to even hold the vials in our hands) and she was still putting on like she was being pecked to death by hens.
Back to the farm by 2:20something am. I got the news before I even got home from there, that Vivian Leigh was on the table. Managed to crawl into my bed at 3:40. And my alarm was set for 5:45. Woohoo. Plus there's Vivian Leigh under the knife to stress over. Sleep was... interesting. At 5:50 I got a text. Vivian Leigh was off the table with nothing terrifying found inside her and was on the mend. I'd tell you about Thursday, but frankly, I don't remember much of it. Friday was about the same. But I lived, Vivian Leigh pony lived and no one lost their ears. It was definitely a week of Zombies though.
And not all bad. I also got into the lovely Ruth's contest and then later found out that I'd won through to the 'free pass round' I also found some more contests I plan on entering. And I managed to find, and then enter the Bring a Friend to Bordertown contest. LOVE me some Bordertown!!! So, all in all, I can't complain. But just the same WHEW I am glad that week is over with.
Now, back to editing and writing...
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Bring A Friend to Bordertown!
Out There Twin -
I had to work nine hours in trade to get this out to you. But really, it was worth it just to see that pretty boy with the pointy ears wince whenever I lowered the needle. Tough elves my asshole. I got a guarantee of delivery out of the deal too. Who knew elves would be so damn gaga over tats that move around in their oh-so-perfect skin? Pretty Boy's in for a surprise if this letter don't reach you though. I sort of withheld the fact that my tats listen to me if I take a wanting to order them around. I'll have that twining ivy ink choke the shit out of him if he crosses me.
And no, I ain't mentioned that it's my blood in the ink what does it. Or that your blood will reverse things. And no, he can't read this letter. Can't nobody read it 'cept someone with my exact DNA. That's another little trick my nine hours bought me. Now stop mouthing questions to yourself, like I know you are, 'cause I got a cap on how much I can write so I gotta say this while I can.
You gotta come. Shit, I feel like I'm talking to me before I got here. Bordertown was made for us. Us before. I know, I know, you got Him now, and that little kneebiter. But you're just gonna have to bring them with you. She'll make it through fine. She ain't old enough for suspicion and judgement to slow her down. Unbelief ain't had time to root inside her yet. He'll make out okay too, I guess. After all, He survived getting passed me to marry you, didn't He?
Point is, you gotta come. Because I feel like a dragonfly with one wing broke off. Always listing to one side and going on anyhow but knowing something's missing. Folk here are good and bad alike. And some are right between, grey straight through. You don't know which they're gonna be what day, not until you look them in the eye. But Bordertown is a fine place to be, even when things are tough. Better than all that everything that's so much nothing out in the World. Here, a deal is a deal, even if it's tricky-made and giving your word on something means a hell of a lot more than just flapping your gums. In Bordertown, there's no room for people who ain't living in their lives. No room for people who don't have the guts to claim themselves. You either are here, or you ain't.
But you gotta come, 'cause I feel like only half of me made it. And like I said, in Bordertown, you're either here or you ain't. There's no room for halfway. Which, I guess, sort of makes me an impossibility, since genetically I'm here as me, but also Out There as you. Anyway, get here. I'll know when you arrive, just like always. So don't worry, I'll find you.
- Bordertown Twin
I had to work nine hours in trade to get this out to you. But really, it was worth it just to see that pretty boy with the pointy ears wince whenever I lowered the needle. Tough elves my asshole. I got a guarantee of delivery out of the deal too. Who knew elves would be so damn gaga over tats that move around in their oh-so-perfect skin? Pretty Boy's in for a surprise if this letter don't reach you though. I sort of withheld the fact that my tats listen to me if I take a wanting to order them around. I'll have that twining ivy ink choke the shit out of him if he crosses me.
And no, I ain't mentioned that it's my blood in the ink what does it. Or that your blood will reverse things. And no, he can't read this letter. Can't nobody read it 'cept someone with my exact DNA. That's another little trick my nine hours bought me. Now stop mouthing questions to yourself, like I know you are, 'cause I got a cap on how much I can write so I gotta say this while I can.
You gotta come. Shit, I feel like I'm talking to me before I got here. Bordertown was made for us. Us before. I know, I know, you got Him now, and that little kneebiter. But you're just gonna have to bring them with you. She'll make it through fine. She ain't old enough for suspicion and judgement to slow her down. Unbelief ain't had time to root inside her yet. He'll make out okay too, I guess. After all, He survived getting passed me to marry you, didn't He?
Point is, you gotta come. Because I feel like a dragonfly with one wing broke off. Always listing to one side and going on anyhow but knowing something's missing. Folk here are good and bad alike. And some are right between, grey straight through. You don't know which they're gonna be what day, not until you look them in the eye. But Bordertown is a fine place to be, even when things are tough. Better than all that everything that's so much nothing out in the World. Here, a deal is a deal, even if it's tricky-made and giving your word on something means a hell of a lot more than just flapping your gums. In Bordertown, there's no room for people who ain't living in their lives. No room for people who don't have the guts to claim themselves. You either are here, or you ain't.
But you gotta come, 'cause I feel like only half of me made it. And like I said, in Bordertown, you're either here or you ain't. There's no room for halfway. Which, I guess, sort of makes me an impossibility, since genetically I'm here as me, but also Out There as you. Anyway, get here. I'll know when you arrive, just like always. So don't worry, I'll find you.
- Bordertown Twin
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