Or, AKA Facebook is the Devil.
|Consolation. We looked like this once upon a time.|
This weekend was beautiful, perfect New England weather. Long sunshine filled breezy days. Birds chirping, everything bursting into bloom. Perfect riding weather. And I was stuck with a broken pony.
One thing you should not do when your pony is on the DL is surf facebook.
Pictures of acquaintances doing every possible horse-related activity -- horse shows, trail rides and hunter paces -- are guarranteed to activate that mean, grinchly part of you, the one you try to ignore or stuff down.
The green eyed monster.
As I perused fb, I felt that awful beast stir in my chest. I saw pics of people who I knew had been through their share of struggles, who had put years of work into their horses, but still, pics of them merrily jumping fences, cantering across green grass, out at their first hunter pace, ate at my soul.
I slept restlessly Saturday night. In the dark, wee hours of the morning, I tossed and turned, anxious over Boca's future. Stressing over things I can't control. Such as whether or not these back injections will work. Faced with the knowledge that if they don't, I'm in for a world of hurt. What if that will never be us???
I tried to drown my anxiety in the remains of a half gallon of ice cream.
Bloated on the excessive dairy consumption, with the chemicals in my head sated, I was finally able to get some sleep. But the questions remain to be answered.