February 10, 2026 
Week 5 of the Winter Equestrian Festival has come and gone and in it, I feel I have lived weeks 6, 7, and 8 as well.
I can hardly remember the days, except I had become lost doomscrolling and watching news from home—Minnesota. My online life generally consists of horse and cute animal videos, with some literature and art thrown in. I am an unapologetic curator of my online experience, only now—
One video led to the next to the next until I imagined my brain like in a cartoon, throbbing, with arithmetic equations floating in the air, swirling around me. Paranoia, which is never far, seized me.
“This is how it happens,” I thought. “This is how you become a crazed conspiracy theorist, this is how you lose your mind completely.”
“Except everything IS a conspiracy!” I replied to myself, turning my head from side to side, looking around, eyes darting back and forth, suspecting everyone, sure of everything and nothing all at once.
It didn’t help when the black SUV showed up outside the gates.
I was immediately accused of being the target due to my outspoken opposition to violations of the 1st, 4th, 5th and 10th amendments by federal authorities. Previously, having lived a free and easy life, I used to tout the 21st as my favorite amendment.
I denied it. “I only put some stupid things in my story, like a stupid, impotent, privileged and useless bystander,” I objected. “Who looks at that?”
“Ohhhhhhh,” said someone. “They use AI to scan all that. Your whole phone. They know EVERYTHING.”
“I try to immediately and permanently delete any nude photos I have,” I replied stupidly, assuming the only danger I am ever in is that of potential embarrassment.
I was in the dumps by the time Saturday night rolled around and determined to cure the problem by indulging in what the 21st allowed me. I kept ordering whiskey and when that was not enough, I drank out of my neighbors’ glasses.
The first 5-star of the season! Let us move from my deranged state of mind to the delights of sport. The start list was alluring, with half the world’s top ten included and nearly all of those Blumans!
We started taking bets at the table. I, naturally, as Secretary-General of the Kent Dolls, the super-secret, ultra-exclusive Kent Farrington fan club, went with KPF and his unmatchable mount, Greya. Someone put down for Lillie, another for Nina. Ben Maher, Nicola Philippaerts, McLain Ward, and Richard Vogel—each of us rooting for a different rider, so we would miss no opportunity to grandstand, to hoot, to holler, to whistle and brag, to accuse others of a lack of discernment, to cry in our whiskey or to stand cheering, all-knowing and triumphant, depending on the outcome in the arena.
I was wearing a long robe with tigers on the sleeves and “The World is Yours!” embroidered in large letters on the back. It was a message for everyone else, because what am I? Just a fragile little boat buffeted by waves too powerful for me to counteract.
I went up to visit the restroom to wash my hands. I was determined to hate everyone, beset by prejudice and paranoia as I was. I looked around as I weaved through the tables of VIP, attempting to focus my dislike on individuals, but quickly found myself delighted by this one’s outfit, the way that one’s glasses, black and stylish, sat on his nose. Look at that one’s suit! And her haircut really is charming—how it frames her face! So many people are so attractive, I thought, looking around. And the way that one’s eyes sparkle as she laughs!
Hate is a bust, I thought, and probably should be reserved solely for my own creative output—hahahaha! (Editor’s Note: Love is the answer, Erica. Bad Bunny tells us so.)
Back at the table, and I’m still drinking and not eating and we’re heading into the jump off with eight. Five of us were still in the running for the table top prize—me, with KPF, and those that had chosen Maher, Nina, Lillie, and Vogel.
KPF was first to go and laid out a smooth and fast fast fast jump off round until—the last fence. The last fence! The howling scream that erupted! Did you see the time? Unbeatable, and indeed two seconds faster than the eventual winner.
The eventual winner was number 6 in the world, Richard Vogel on Gangster Montdesir, a Kannan-sired gelding who, at times in his round, displayed a totally non-Kannan backend.
(Later, me, intrepid journalist, asked Vogel: “How’d you get a Kannan without a tight backend?” “I just did,” he replied, or something close to that, don’t quote me, 21st amendment…)
I was upset. I was drunk and upset. First, Kent didn’t win. Second, Kent didn’t win. But also, with the world swirling unsteadily around me, I couldn’t lock on to the course, I couldn’t follow it the way I love to follow it. I love to watch a horse and rider smoothly carving a track as if it were inevitable. I love it!
I was with a young man, the one who had placed his bets on Vogel, a very proud young man, so I insisted we go down and accost the winner for a selfie.
We entered the ring on the side of the riders, not on the other side of the fence where the people gathered, which was a strategic mistake, as we did not look like fans in need of autographs or selfies, but rather like horse-world-industry insiders who are not normally in want of such things, or at least pretend they aren’t.
This meant we had to wait quite a long time, as Vogel is very popular, because honestly he IS very cute despite what some people say who only say it because they are horse-world-industry insiders and apparently cannot admit the facts of the case or are super jelly. I am not like that.
While waiting we grabbed Ben Maher, runner up in the class and number 3 in the world, for a selfie and it was the smoothest and easiest selfie I ever took with anyone, as if he could transfer his speed and smoothness from riding to a selfie with no trouble at all. What is this? I thought, this guy is a true professional, what is this? I wondered if I must resign as Kent Dolls Secretary-General after that selfie. I don’t even have a selfie with Kent, do I? It is mastery of the small details that must make a champion, I thought.
We finally got our selfie with Vogel so I could put it in my story, alongside my supposedly-subversive political messages. I went home and upon entering the parking lot, saw that the staff had hung up some outdoor lights that shone and filled the parking lot with a beautiful amber glow.
I felt so utterly thankful, because I knew they had done it for me, who had expressed a love of and desire for such lighting. I burst into sobs, sitting there in the parking lot all alone. I cried for some time, as I felt how much these people, arriving here, at this spot in the world, all of us coming together from different places to do an international sport and to support that sport—how much they had added to my life, or rather—have given me a life.
Thank you.
