The final horse man had the name “MINOR CHORES”, he was the oldest and most experienced of the horsemen. I knew the word minor was a decoy to what I would loose with him. As I steered at his eyes, I saw the work he had in store for me. This horseman preferred to take bits of my time, Instead of stacking my chores and doing them at once, he allowed me sit to utilize my time, to work and be productive, then I felt his breath on my neck, and whisper in my ears reminding me to put his children in order. This horse man was cruel for he made me create the toys at my peril. The cloths I washed and  didn't put in place, the book I was reading and forgot to close, the cloths I didn't iron. He would allow me stack this and he would never let me do them at once for he worked with the horsemen in training. He would let me wash the clothes then allow the horse man of social media take me. He would let me iron then allow the horseman of napping to take me, he made me a hamster in a wheel yet I could not blame him. For he never brought it to himself, he controlled the chess board and I was a pawn  in his hands. 

The horse men hated a certain word and that was discipline. For to break from the grip of these horsemen one must build discipline. The discipline to do what needs to be done and not what you want to do. The discipline to let go of the weight and move to the top. The discipline to write, to study, to keep in touch at certain times and leave no space for the horsemen.