Churning out a post every day is a grind. Today, however, is an oasis of sorts for me. Today is a day of rest in the journey. I'm about 40 love letters into the project. I got another 20 or so left in me.
Soon after I started this book-in-progress, I thought how much easier it might be if I had a girlfriend while writing a book of love letters. But I could not do this project with a partner (as if I had the option anyway), largely because everything I wrote would be directed to and for her. Being unattached, which I seem to specialize in, I can draw on all my muses in an attempt to change up the energy and color of the pieces, and hopefully keep things lively.
Writing everyday is a grind, sure, but it's also a gift. The old journalism saying I lived by when I was a newspaper reporter is true: You don't need inspiration-- you need a deadline. If you write everyday, you might as well work at it and say something worth saying. As my new friend iquitelikethat recently wrote, "Every time I write I learn something about myself."
And so onward I race, into the homestretch of this project...Okay, with that racetrack imagery in mind, I confess to writing a love letter for today. And it's dedicated to you beautiful people who visit this blog:
Most horses at the racetrack don't get out to pasture regularly. They live on the backstretch for several months at a time. They live 23 hours a day in their own individual stalls. The other hour is spent exercising on the racetrack. That's their life.
Temperament is not a factor when it comes to breeding. It's all about speed. So lots of racehorses are crazy, and sometimes even stepping into their stalls can be dangerous.
But you know what makes the horses really go nuts? A filly living on the backstretch will occasionally saunter down the barn aisle, and these horses that live 23 hours a day in stalls can see and smell that which they can never touch. They buck, stand up, neigh like a siren. Sometimes they even crack the wooden walls of their stalls with a thunderous kick.
When I think of you, when your face passes across the eye of my mind, when I remember what you smell like and what you do to the pace of my heart, I know just how those horses feel.