Wibbly Wobbly Wonder

NOT SURE WHAT THAT IS, IS IT ICE CREAM? I was kinda crap on Thursday, and though it might have been, I don’t know, being rusty, couldn’t keep my balance at all, but I had had Rebel on Tuesday and even though we had an ongoing battle for the bit, it was a good night, and, so, was I losing it, was I just crap, crap at horseriding, and I should just quit?!?!

No, I was simply cooking up a virus.

Or something. At the paper on Friday, Dee asked me a question as she was waling away, and I turned my head, and it was like my brain hesitated just that split second and didn’t turn at the same time, bumping into the inside of my noggin, and my eyes crossed. Whoops. Headrush. No showjumping tonight.

Which was a mature decision. I hate mature decisions. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. I knew that if I brazened it out, I’d get up there, and the adrenalin would do its work, and the smells and the congeniality would take my mind off my slightly pasty complexion, my droopy eyes — and was I running a teeny weeny fever? I decided to see how I got on with the interview I had to conduct before I headed off for the yard.

When my throat suddenly dried up [not from nerves] and I was fighting to keep my eyes open [not from boredom!], yeah, well, time to go home.

As I discovered, you actually have to use your head to do this showjumping lark, and my skull was pinching my brain, pushing against my temples, and my eyes were stinging, and all the adrenalin in the world wasn’t going to knock out a bug that would certainly be aided and abetted by short bursts of sweaty activity followed by sitting around on the horse in the windy upper arena.

So, like a grown up, I did my shopping and headed home.

Besides, there was no way I was going to miss my lesson today. Rest up, and off I go…

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