Excuses

                Of course, the minute I decide to do my blog every day, my life gets crazy busy for a couple of days AND I get sick, which makes me feel like a Big Fat Liar or Loser or both.  I have this idea in my head that, in order to be a writer, I have to actually WRITE every day, and even sell something on occasion.  Or maybe just publish something, whether or not I get paid.  See how easy I’m making this?  There should be no excuses.

                I was accused of making excuses for myself once, a few years ago, by someone who shall remain nameless and is now a good friend.  At the time, we were mere acquaintances.  I don’t even know if she remembers what she said.  She didn’t even say it to my face, but I overheard her remark to another woman, “She has an excuse for everything.”  They were referring to my struggles with my ornery little paint horse.  We were all riding drill team together, and that horse, Slinky, had never ridden drill before.  It takes some getting used to.  You throw a dozen or two horse-and-rider pairs into an arena and run patterns, with maneuvers that have you running head-on at the other horses at times, crossing right on top of another horse and rider at others.  My little horse was having none of it, but I was sure trying to convince him that he wouldn’t die if he’d just do what I was asking, but that I might kill him if he didn’t.  Every time he’d go into emotional overload and start doing what the drillmaster called “throwing his own private rodeo,” I’d wrangle him back into some semblance of control, smile sheepishly, and apologize and try to explain to the rest of the team.  “I’m trying a new bit today,” “I’m wearing spurs,” “There was a full moon last night,” were some of the things I probably said in hopes they would excuse the interruption.

                Along with being a pathological excuse-maker, I guess I’m also pretty stubborn.  I kept at drill team on that horse until the day he bucked higher than a kite, repeatedly, all the way across the arena and sent me flying.  Just his way of saying, once and for all, I am not a drill horse.  My friend Christy said she never saw a rider launched that high, and that I almost made the 8 seconds required by rodeo to have a qualifying ride.  I couldn’t tell you, I seem to have blacked out at some point, or maybe just don’t remember because I did break my helmet and ended up with a concussion.  (I’m glad I was wearing the helmet.   So many of my friends don’t wear them, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog.)

I had a lot of time to think after that, with what was left of my brain cells that hadn’t been smashed or scrambled, as I sat for two months in a wheel chair while multiple pelvic fractures healed.  I figured out that sometimes you just have to do things, and other times you have to not do them and do something else.  Sometimes you try and hit a dead end, but then you try again and it works.  Sometimes it doesn’t, but you change tracks and suddenly you’re in a great place and life is just peachy after all.  The key in all of that is to KEEP DOING SOMETHING.  Making excuses is a waste of time, and evidently can be very annoying to people around you.  I decided that maybe if I hadn’t kept making excuses I would have realized sooner that Slinky just wasn’t a drill horse, and I would have used my energy to find one who was.

So there you have it, my excuse for why I missed a day of blogging, and why I don’t believe in making excuses, all rolled into one.  If you’re thinking that something about all this isn’t adding up, I’m sorry, I don’t have any excuse for that.  I just said I’d write every day.  I didn’t promise it would all make sense.