Please stand still. I’ll even feed you some carrots, as much as I don’t want to. Because you’re only a metaphorical horse, and if I feed you carrots, it means that I’m the one who’s eating the carrots, and carrots are not fatty, salty, or sugary. They’re carrots. (All right, carrots are actually pretty good, but so are delicious, soft foods when you’re trying to get a lot of work done.)

I need to put one foot in that stirrup and just…he moved. That son of a metaphorical mare.

So you want me to speak to you in French, eh? What, because one of my majors is in French, you expect me to read you a story in French? I have enough stories and essays and articles and chapters to read in English. At least that part I’ve done pretty consistently the last four months. Okay, maybe I haven’t been reading a whole lot of nonfiction since April, but I’ll adjust. If you’ll just let me hoist myself on your back…

All right. I’m here. I just need to shift around a little to get comfortable in this saddle again. I’m gonna be sore three days from now, aren’t I?

So what you’re saying now is, you don’t remember how to jump? You’re a horse, how can you forget how to jump? You just need to get back on the horse? Dude. You are the horse. Oh no…