Crash test dummy

It was a good weekend, I dare even say great. It has been a while since I have had one of those, I had almost forgotten what the hell that felt like. It was a weekend without snide remarks, looks of abandonment, deafeningly silent incessant clamouring, like an annoying mosquito at your ear while you try to sleep. No accusation of some imaginary misdeed.

Yet another corner in this emotional recession, running in circles in the stadium of my convolution. Sometimes it feels like the 1500m race, other times it is more like the 400m hurdles. Occasionaly the hurdles are cleared effortlessly. But every now and then one catches my back leg and I stumble, only to regain my composure before I hit the ground. Other times the hurdles seem higher than usual and I can't clear it comfortably and I come crashing down, scrapping my chin against the hard rough ground the rest of my body following in a thunderous thud.

Those are the days I wish I did not get up, I did not wake up from bed, I did not clean my hooves, groom my wool and step out into this winter of my discontent.

But this weekend was not one of those times. Thank the north wind, good company and some scotch.

My life is certainly no fairy tale, no happily ever after, but it is mine, and it is what I choose it to be. I feel sorrow for those who long for the fairy tale and the happily ever after; there is much disillusion and disappointment ahead in their life. Much time for comfortable numbness.

But this life is mine and I happily lay claim to its dysfunction.