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Adrian trips out the front door in her little semi-squared
toed boots. Red material swirls around her legs and the sounds of the concert
she is going to attend is already occupying her mind.
I sit back down with pen and paper, the number of this rough
draft is now lost to me, it has been revised so many times. I cross out entire
sections, write a new chapter. My tea grows cold and I ignore the ache in my
back and I try and keep the worrying thoughts at bay. Recently, they crowd ever
closer.
Scratch, scratch, scratch….my pen flies and my thoughts
wander…
Maybe the glasses I
will be getting will help me not feel as unbalanced horseback, and I won’t be
scared when I ride. Maybe I’ll be able to start driving again…oh can you
imagine the freedom?!
Scratch, scratch, scratch….my pen is ruthless and efficient…
I need to unpack the
rest of our shop things with dad, I want to make a video for YouTube on what
you need to get started braiding. God, I love these people I’ve come in contact
with from Buckaroo Barbie. They’ve touched me more than I ever realized was
possible in a virtual world.
Scratch, scratch, scratch…my favorite pen’s blue ink is
soaked up almost instantly…
Maybe I’ll ask Em and
Trev if I can come and visit, stay for a while, roll around in the snow and
maybe play cowboy a little. I hear Bill Confer is shutting down his rawhide
business. Where in the hell am I going to get hides? I’m not strong enough to
make my own rawhide all the way through anymore…damn my body for failing me,
right when it feels like I’m starting to get my feet under me.
Scratch, scratch, scratch…it’s almost musical the way the
nib traces out the skeletons of unformed words…
The people I really
care about will love and appreciate this book. I’m pretty sure all my old
friends will despise me. I don’t care anymore though, I just can’t.
Scratch, scratch, scratch….why in God’s name did I write THAT….but this is good…
The dance, the drag, the pull, it continues. I slowly get
out of my chair, massage the kink in my neck. I throw out my cold tea and take
the dogs outside. I lite a cigarette and all the thoughts I’ve kept at bay come
rushing in and take over. I’m back in Alberta and you’re teaching me to cut
calves and every night you sing “Sunlight On Silver.” I startle back to reality
when I burn myself on the end of this stupid smoke stick. I’ll deal with all
that later, right now, more editing awaits me.
xo xo Liz