Twitchy

Run hands through hair, smile shyly, take a step back and then fiddle with the paper in right hand.

Oh man, I had about three good blog topic ideas and four or five lame ones; my body aches from the first hour-long ride on the big lanky gelding in over a month, followed by a day of painting ceilings; I am way behind on like, everything; I'm a confused, disorganized mess.

Scratch nose, wish to be elsewhere, push hair out of face.

I put myself on the spot here, I expect a level of performance in general that I can rarely achieve, and I'm getting tired of my own excuses!

Shift to the other foot, rub nose, scratch back of head.

You know, because in my head I have so much energy, so many ideas, that I could fuel this blog and a novel as well as countless lesson plans for any horse and rider combination, not to mention a column in the church newsletter, some disjointed poems, a few short stories and emails that may or may not make sense.  

But, in real life, I'm really tired and my muscles ache... I wish the studio could magically finish itself so it can make us a living instead of depleting us... and I don't know what to do next.

Lean forward, try not to crack a grin about the absurdity of all this.  Lean back.  Crack half a smile.

Examining the landscape inside my head is like watching Johnny Depp present an award on live TV.  Nothing ever stands perfectly still.  It's quite awesome and beautiful but also kind of disheveled.  

Scratch nose, raise an eyebrow, shift to other foot.  Repeat.