Punks Kid Rock is the registered name of my American Quarter horse gelding, Rocky. This blog chronicles our adventures together,
as well as stories from my horse past and, occasionally, a tidbit from my non horse life.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


I'm really tired today. I've been tired for a while now, it seems. Lately, mornings have been dragging myself out of bed, or pressing the snooze button way too many times. Sometimes at night I have trouble sleeping.

My interest in going to see Rocky has waned, as well. I am so frustrated with my schedule and myself. I've been thinking about selling him, he costs so much money and if I'm too damn lazy to go see him... what's the point? It hurts me to write that and put it out in the universe. I felt like crying today on my way up to see him, but didn't work up the tears. I think I do miss him but I haven't put the energy into caring for him, so he is an "out of sight, off of schedule" thing. I feel so bad every time I think of him and how long it's been since the last time I went out to see him. I don't think I actually want to sell him, but I need... something.

Today I dragged myself around the house and out to see him, if only for 15 minutes. He was dirty and injured and I felt bad. I will drag myself up sooner tomorrow so I can at least groom him properly before saying good bye, maybe go for a little walk. I feel bad leaving earlier than usual in the mornings, as Bear then needs to be kenneled longer and I don't have time to walk him first. I did take him for a quick walk this morning, so I suppose I should feel better about that. It just feels like everything is too little, too late.

I started to organize our living room, and now 4 garbage bags of books and 1 of my clothes sit in the living room, taking up physical and mental space. I need to throw them in my car and let someone else enjoy them. I need to go through my bookshelves again, more mercilessly, create more free space so our living room can breathe. I need to get rid of the stacks of magazines and crap that pile up on every available surface, to get things off the kitchen counters. I want to dust my shelves and rearrange the living room so that it is more open, less littered with stuff and more deliberately put together.

One of the cats (or both?) has begun intermittently pooping outside of the litter box. Twice now, on my jeans, which I only realized as I started to pull the denim up my leg in the morning. Don't worry, I didn't get poop on my legs, but I was a gross surprise. Also, if it's not on my jeans, it's on the rug that used to belong to my grandmother. The one that makes me think of her and smile a little.

I still have a few thank you cards from the wedding to write (late gifts), still have to get car insurance under our new names, still have to figure out our schedule for Christmas and when everyone is doing everything.

There's a painting I want to get my mom for her 50th birthday this year, but the original is $1500 and there are no prints of it yet.

I don't know what to get Justin yet, or how my sister is going to make it up to Duluth to celebrate Christmas and our parents' birthdays (Dec 21 and 31). I had an idea for everyone to meet at the halfway point between where she and we live, but my mom's face fell at the suggestion while my dad looked like he was forcing optimism. I just want the Holidays to go well, where my parents and my sister never say anything to each other that wounds. Where I sit there, knowing that they will continue to hurt each other and then pretend it didn't happen, trying to just "get along" for the short time she is in town. Because we love each other. I hate the moments where they have swiped at each other and I can see both sides of the story, but no one is there to narrate.

I worry about our credit rating and how we are going to handle changing all of our finances into one account. I worry about the weight I've gained and if I should take back a few of the nice, good condition jeans that don't currently fit me but might if I lost the weight and put them back in my dresser, instead of giving them away. They're part of the bag of clothes in my living room. So I can see them and remind myself that they don't fit because I have become too fat, and dig for a pair that does. I could use another pair of jeans that do fit, but I don't want to waste the money if I just lose the weight. Then again, when am I going to get THAT started?

I'm tired.

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