I really have been struggling to write recently. It’s almost as though I have vanished. I touched upon it in a previous post, I feel as though my outlet has been compromised and while I want to stay true to myself and speak my mind, I worry that will lead to trouble.
I think another reason I have been struggling to write is that I have nothing to write about. I go to work 5 days a week and it’s the same day-in-day-out. Two nights a week I get to escape to see my chunky boy and then I get him to myself of a weekend. His stable manners have come on leaps and bounds from when I first brought him down to Cardiff. I can cuddle him and he’s learning to trust me all over again. I can touch his, which is a very big deal.
I really need to get up the nerve to tack him up and sit on him, but I’m worried. Worried that his saddle will no longer fit him and it’ll hurt him, worried that I won’t be able to get on him, worried he’ll chuck me off the bridge and down onto the M4 if he spooks on a hack.
This weekend I think I just need to bite the bullet and do it, but I think I’ll need someone there for moral support. But truly I don’t know who I can ask.
“Hey, fancy spending your Saturday morning walking along side me on my horse just in case I fall off?”
We shall see.