Need To Worry

After revisiting an unposted blog entry, one of such self pitying menopausal misery, I wanted to write about something more humorous and hopefully therapeutic. Something light and uplifting with out the dreary, poor me, but the laughing, poor me! Isn’t that better?

Russ and I are going on vacation in two days. No mere vacation us. This isn’t a week at a time share in Tahiti or a cruise in the Aegean. For the first time since our starving student days, we are taking off 4 or 5 weeks. Yes, it is that open ended. We have been planning this ‘sabbatical’ for over a year. Preparing and researching and counting the days.

Another honest to goodness, real life, bone fide adventure from Russo’s Travel Service.

We are horse camping. In a large four-horse slant, with teeny tiny living quarters for us human herd members. Departing our home away from home, the R-Wild Horse Ranch, our journey will begin in the Cascades of Oregon under the watchful eye of the Holm and Susan Neumann. After our fill of trails and mounted archery fun, Coggins in hand, we sojourn to Utah’s beautemous Red Rock country. Camp, ride, camp, ride, camp, ride. Eat, sleep, ride repeat. Great horses, fun friends, and spectacular scenery not available anywhere else on the planet. Russo’s Travel Service at it’s finest.

Tearing ourselves away from Utah, as we must, we continue down to Arizona, North Rim anyone? More dream trails. If time allows and we’re still having the trip of a life time, Russ the boyz and I will tag along with Holm and Susan down to Scottsdale for a mounted archery clinic.

This is all uplifting, but not particularly humorous so far.. Not a hint of poor me, yet. On the near eve of this dream-come-true trip, what stress and tensions plague my frequently fettered mind? Is it my 81 year old mother’s edema? Is it missing her 82 birthday? How about my son’s college essay, the one’s I LOVE to type? An over looked unpaid bill? Household emergencies, broken water pipes? How about this trip with a horse I’ve only ridden a handful of times?

I am worried about my newly established Facebook gaming presence. Yes, a virtual existence in pretend computer games of the silliest order. I have survived long weekends away, struggling to find wifi connections to check in with my Mafia Empire, pulling fake jobs to earn fake money to invest in a mega real estate portfolio of monumentally insignificant pretend holdings. My Vampire Clan, similar concerns. Who will answer the call for help? Who will, with the religious zeal of a neophyte, send free gifts of pretend nothing on a daily basis to it’s sacred family members? The daily votes I cast blindly for my Sorority Sisters. Most of all I will miss my virtual farms. Lil Farm is a pain, loads slowly, but has triggered the collector or OCD symptoms in me. Like the need to finish a book once stared. Farm Town, well it is big and the animals move. Humble little Farm Ville is the favorite in my entire virtual game universe. It is pretty, colorful and just cuter than cute. Can I get that tune as my cell phone tone? Remember the intervention program I so desperately need?

If this isn’t enough shame in my continuing saga of computer game addiction, who will manage my 81 year old mother’s empire, clan and farms? Mr. Mica will be on the road with us, eat, sleep, ride and repeat, remember? I doubt he will stress over his dwindling Facebook fortunes.

I have crossed the clichéd “T’s” and dotted the proverbial “I’s”, taking my mother to last minute doctor appointments and paying September’s and October’s bills to avoid late fees and interrupted service. This is nothing new, we travel a lot. Ashley lives here, the house isn’t empty. The mail will be brought in, the yard watered. We no longer have a dog.

Leave it to me to find something to worry about. Something as ridiculous as game avatars that merely a month ago didn’t even exist.

I’ll be riding a real, live horse, with my real live husband and friends. We will be the Magnificent Seven minus One. The Magnificent Six. I will write about it, blog about and post pictures. Eat, sleep, ride, repeat. With a little farm ditty playing in the recesses of my mind.