My First Time Doing Yoga: (non-fiction)
I turned on a beginner’s yoga video on youtube, set the laptop on my bed, and sat on my wood floors. This blonde chick immediately starts talking about breathing and suddenly I’ve forgotten how. Am I breathing incorrectly? Is it supposed to be this fast? Have I been breathing wrong my whole life? It makes it almost a hundred times worse that I have this lame tattoo on my arm that says “Just Breathe.” There is almost nothing I hate more than becoming aware of my own breathing (ironic I know). Then this bitch starts throwing out names that sound like sex positions involving directionally challenged dogs and zodiac symbols…downward facing dog, upward facing dog, cobra, a dog facing a crisis. (This last one was a joke…not a very funny one at that.) As I attempt to imitate these positions, I’m slipping and sliding all over my wooden floors because I don’t have a yoga mat. I also keep looking back at my doorway like a paranoid methhead (we don’t have doors in my apartment) making sure my roommate Connor doesn’t see me. He laughs at everything and I’m pretty sure my attempt at yoga could make almost anyone burst into laughter. I made it through most of the video until blondie asked me to touch my hands to my feet…but like backwards…and sideways…and on the ground…if you can imagine. At the end, she claimed that I was supposed to feel more at peace, but I felt quite the opposite. I felt like blondie and her unnaturally flexible, fit body had taken me back to Vietnam along with the rest of the 1960’s generation.
End of Story
Last night, there I was….just watching a chick flick, crying, and drinking root beer (as I sometimes do). I had come face to face with…well something I just didn’t want to face. My never boyfriend had several never girlfriends, and as fate would have it, I am meeting them all. While when other girls have boy problems I’m all like, “Girl power! We don’t need guys to make us happy!” ; when I have boy problems I’m all like, “Fuck you, fuck everyone. I hate you all!”. Clearly I have no double standards. Pot meet kettle.
My date with fate (again with the unintentional rhyming) led me to having a very sentimental morning. As I made a pot of coffee at the church where I work, I suddenly missed the time in my life when I didn’t even know how to make a pot of coffee. I missed the time in my life when I didn’t know how to write a check. I missed the time in my life when I had never met my never boyfriend. I missed the time in my life when there weren’t any ethical gray areas about whether or not to eat horse meat, have an abortion, or wear white after labor day.
I’ve often heard people ask the question, “If you could go back in time, would you change anything.” People always rise above the question and are like, “No, my mistakes made me learn and figure out who I was…blah blah blah”. Are you fucking kidding me? I would change everything. Why would you be so complacent if you had the chance to change things for the better? However, since we do not actually get the chance to go back in time, I’ve realized how important it is to make decisions carefully and choose words wisely. While the carefree side of me wants to let loose and do whatever I want when I want, ending up alone in my room crying about some skeezy guy makes me think that that was not working for me. Trying to get over him has sort of been like that last yoga position…backwards, sideways, on the ground, and difficult as fuck….Just like that yoga position, I fell.
Ladies and gentleman, there will be no skeeze for the day as I have taken to hibernation in an effort to avoid those of the male persuasion. For those of you who read my post “That’s My Roommate,” I thought you should know……………I got my lamp back.