Hello and welcome, I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant for sharing thoughts, stories, enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Today, A Two-Horse Town.
Here’s the thing, we need to sell this anxiety medication and you’ve got to come up with and idea and pitch it.  All we know is that horses are involved. Turn it in ASAP. 
Ok. so anxiety. This is a topic I have recently tackled. I’ve made anxiety my bitch, at least for now. Let’s see. Anxiety happens when my imagination runs wild, in the worst possible direction, in a possible or plausible future in which I sink into despair and lack complete control of my thoughts, I sink into darkness, pain, anguish, and punishment. However, there is also the case in which my imagination runs wild in a fantastic direction. A fun, adventurous, sexy, odd, or even romantic and loving direction. First step, take the medicine and see how it works. What better way to sell a product than by testing it out? 
I’m just going to pop this pill here with a little water and let it do its thing. Mmm, now that I think of it, maybe I should have waited to have the symptoms before taking this, what if it sends me into an extra passive place, the anti-anxiety place, maybe it will demolecularize me. What if the last bit of anxiety that I had in my body was actually keeping me together? Oh well, I bet this pill is going to help me make sense of all of this, I just have to wait a few more moments for this to get into my  blood stream. Meanwhile, I’ll start thinking about the story with the horses. I think we should start in a town, in the old west. I can see it, the saloon and general store, and the funeral parlor, next to each other and across from the bank. Poor bank, it gets held up all the time. There is only the main street, it is dusty and at the end of the road, there is a building with a clock tower. The only clock in town. Perfectly located, next to the two only horses the town has. Clocks are important in these towns. As you may know, shootouts have rules and one of the rules is to have them at the strike of - an hour- on the nose! You have to pull out your guns, not before, not after, but right at the moment the clock strikes twelve. The best slots are high noon. That is when you get the best ratings. I mean, everyone is doing something around town at that time.There is a whole economy around showdowns. You’ve got the saloons that serve the liquor diminishing common sense and activating or letting loose the more animalistic instincts that result from throwing back shots. If the amygdala and prefrontal cortex go unchecked, you’ve got yourself a booming economy. It only takes one funny look, rubbing someone the wrong way… and someone might suggest you take it outside, if they are a gentleman, if not, you might get a bar stool cracked over your head, and that will be that. Bartenders need to be vigilant about these things, because they are part of the economic system. The man at the gun store needs to be ready to supply the bullets, and paraphernalia in general for the shootout. You can’t just buy a gun, you need a holster to keep the gun from pulling your pants down, you can’t just stick it in your pocket, less you want to blow off your winky, if you are a winky holder. I guess women could just put a gun in their pocket, however, as we all know too well, women’s pockets are either nonexistent or can’t hold anything. It is a patriarchal move, like high heels. Anyway, You’ve got yourself the gun salesperson, and you need someone to preside over the event, to establish the rules of the duel are properly observed. For the life of me, I couldn’t tell you why that matters… Continue reading

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