- I can go and see BAH whenever I feel like it
- I’ll be able to cook and eat again properly
- I won’t need to trek onto campus with a bag full of heavy books every day
- I’ll have time to read books and take photos
- I can watch television again
- I won’t need to feel guilty for lazy moments
- I’ll (hopefully) stop having anxiety dreams about essays
- I can socialise and be a nice person to live with again
Just have to keep bearing this all in mind, keep working hard, and keep pushing on. The end is so so close and although it’s kind of scary to think that it’ll all be over, I can’t wait. I’ve developed a work effort out of nowhere this year, and it needs to last just a little bit longer and then I’m done.
So many good things to look forward to.
Eva Cassidy - Songbird
Songbird is the first song I can remember listening to on endless repeat. I could still be there now, cross legged on the kitchen floor with the dog asleep on my feet, constantly rewinding my mother’s cassette player, utterly enchanted.
I’ve listened to it so many times since, and it still makes me shiver.
I felt crappier than I’ve felt in months on my way down to the yard today, to the point where just finishing my usual yard chores felt like a mammoth task. I’d been planning to ride, but in the end I just ended shutting myself in the stable and leaning up against BAH.
He smelled muddy and horsey, and his flanks were warm and soft against my cheek, and I could hear the noises of spring grass gurgling around in his stomach. He stood dead still - he didn’t move even an inch, which is unusual for him - and eventually I felt like I could breathe again. It’s like coming home after a long journey, that feeling of utter relief and comforting familiarity.
I realise I probably looked a bit weird. I also realise that if he’d stepped sideways, there was a strong chance that I would have fallen headfirst into a pile of dung. I’d like to tell myself that he realised something was up, and stood still out of the kindness of his heart - but in reality, he’s probably too dense to pick up on that. I imagine he was enjoying a lazy moment. Either way, I needed it and I’m grateful for it. Once I felt vaguely like a human being again, I spent the rest of my time down there grooming him and generally making a fuss of him.
BAH changes colour every year. Brushing off his grimy winter coat every spring brings the same feelings of anticipation as a lucky dip; his new pattern of spots and dapples is gradually revealed, day by day. When I first bought him as a skinny, gawky youngster, he was rose grey. He then developed a brown dappled pattern, which turned steely grey for a while, and now he has a strange combination of grey dapples and brown spots. He’s filled out too, and has the hanging pot-belly of a middle aged man. I think he’s happier, as well. He’s grown up and I’ve grown up, and although we’ve had our bumps along the way (let’s not count how many times I hit the ground during his bronco phase) I’m glad we got to do so together. Watching him change has made me realise how much I’ve changed, too, and although it’s weird, it’s also kind of reassuring.
Horses really are comforting. Even though they probably don’t understand a word you’re saying, they’ll always listen. Even if they’re just expecting carrots, they’re always happy to see you. And as today has shown, even if it’s just because they can’t be bothered to shift their chubby backsides, they’ll let you lean your full weight against their sides until you feel capable of standing on your own two feet again.
I’m so grateful for everything he gives me.