You feel pretty small.
Giant horses do the same thing.
Even littler things, like this goat, made me feel small. He decided that he had had enough when this group of five-year-olds babbled by, and he backed up, fixed his slitted pupils on me, and banged into my leg.
I wasn't even doing anything to set him off. Sheesh.
I think feeling so small was due in part to my lack of sleep. I woke up at 4:00 a.m. and stayed awake, jotting out storylines in my head. By the time I hit the afternoon, I was jittering and insubstantial. It felt like those times that you find yourself staring into the refrigerator not thinking about food but still thinking about food and your body sort of disappears, only all of Agribition, its hundreds of vendors and people and animals, was my refrigerator.
It occurred to me, while I loitered by the horses' stalls kicking manure off my boots, that I could leave the place with all the large things, go home, and take a nap to help me exit what was obviously a pretty well-established state of dissociation.
The first corner I turned on my way to find an exit, though, put me in front of Journey, this beautiful and tired quarter horse who needed to get away from it all about as much as I did:
When there was a brief lull in the flow of the crowd, I leaned against Journey's gate and let go a stream of low and quiet words, singing her the story of how this would end and she would get to go home, and she pressed her nose against the gate against my shoulder, and I felt like we were waiting together.
I hope her week gets better.
I never did have that nap. I watched the trains out my taxi window as I left and decided that the day was too nice to nap through. In lieu of sleep, I ate a pile of perogies to act as anchor weights, and a nice carb coma brought me back into myself.
And that was my trip to Agribition. The End.