This is my imaginary horse, the Irish Cob, aka Irish Gypsy Cob and Tinker Cob. Isn't he lovely?
He pulls my imaginary Vardo, which alternates between the Bow Top and the Showman. Both are light enough to be pulled by a single horse, although a second horse was often added for going uphill. (See, I'm not just wasting my time writing; I'm learning stuff too.)
He's featured in my current NaNoWriMo project. In the novel, his name is Merry (his person is Pippin, the youngest child of a couple with a Tolkein obsession).
The detailing on these wagons is amazing; even the underside is decorated. In the course of my research, I came across a UK website. I emailed some questions about size and weight and horsepower; I got a very helpful response from the lovely Stef within a couple of hours. It closed with the Romani expression Atch Konyo - Stay Peaceful. I like it. It may become my new mantra. My frazzled neurons could use some peaceful right about now.
I have learned, as two weeks of graveyard shift stretched out into two months, that I am not a creature of the night. And so, as of tomorrow, I am switching to swing shift, because the fustercluck with the hotline ovens still isn't straightened out. Fortunately, I am valued enough that my boss said "Come to work whenever you want. Just write your schedule down for me." I think he's afraid that I'll stop coming to work. As well he should be. While my sensible self realizes the the good things about my job (income, insurance) the rest of me is bored to tears with the endless cycle of tea breads and rolls and breakfast pastries (the TPS reports of my world) is screaming F**K Pastry! and is only a hairsbreadths away from running off to join the circus. Or just running off period. And while I do occasionally get to stretch myself when a catering order asks for a 'nice dessert', that's beginning to seem pointless too. I am a carrot-motivated person. I work for praise. And while my boss, and my coworkers in the kitchen give me positive feedback, I hear nothing from the outside. Nothing. Whether I send out cheesecake from a box, or knock out a three item mignardise plate for 40, I hear nothing. It's disheartening. Yes, I understand the value of being self-motivated, and continuing to learn and grow for my own sake, but damn. I'm not used to this. And I don't like it. See what I mean about being frazzled from the graveyard shift? It wouldn't bother me so much if I weren't fried beyond belief.
In a way, I blame Cavalia. It opened up new worlds and possibilities. It showed me that the life I've made really doesn't fit. Somewhere, I got off course. And a lot of it could just be my attitude right now. We'll see what happens as I return to the sunlit lands. But right now, I have a horse, his boy and a circus family of shapeshifters that require my attention. My imaginary friends who are living my imaginary lives for me. Yay for NaNoWriMo, for giving me a way to explore possibilities, no matter how 'crazy' they might be.