Yoga-ish

My experience at yoga tonight. Here's the play-by-play of what goes on in my over-active brain that refuses to shut the hell off...

Rush, rush, rush. I'm going to be late for yoga! Shit, I better stress myself out to get there on time because who wants to walk into a yoga class late for Christ's sake? Stress, flip off the lady that just cut me off, stress, stress in order to relax, unwind, and let go. Oxymoronic, no?

Walk in. Everybody's already stretching and they all look so damn peaceful and superior. Who's this chick that's walking in late? Doesn't she realize that she's disturbing my chi? Give me a fucking break. I pay fees at this gym, so the way I see it I pay to be late.

OK, I've got my mat unrolled. Look up at the instructor...What am I supposed to be doing? Downward dog, oh. Gotcha. Downward dog, check. Switching to child's pose, OK. When does the real yoga start? This warm up crap is nice and all but it's not going to make me look good in the new bikinis I bought for Italy. Let's get this going lady, come on. Picking up the pace a bit, this is better. Oh, that girl's doing it better than me. I need to lower my warrior pose so that I've got the best damn warrior pose in here. I'm not going to let some chubby girl beat me. Ha. Mine's better, my quads and hamstrings are obviously much stronger than yours (I'm uber-competitive if you can't tell. People don't even have to know that they're competing with me, that's irrelevant because I've already turned it into a competition without their knowledge.).

What the hell are we listening to? I came here to relax and zone out while simultaneously getting a work out in (multi-tasking at its best), not listen to your shitty music that is totally not conducive to either relaxing or zoning out.

This random stream of consciousness continues for some time...

Then we come to the cool down.

What?!? It's already over? I haven't relaxed yet! I didn't zone out and clear my mind yet! And worst of all, I didn't get a decent sweat going!

Instructor (in the kind of voice you imagine every yoga instructor having, zen-like to the point of cheesiness): "Let your legs fall down, straighten your knees. Allow your palms to face up towards the sky, open them. Relax your jaw, relax your brow, relax your body. Let everything slip away."

Me: "Yeah, let me 'relax' my entire body. Let me do just that. If I could, I wouldn't be here lady. The guy next to me can, he's almost asleep. What's wrong with me? Oh, it's raining outside. I should go running in the rain instead of on the treadmill. I like running in the rain."

Instructor: "Begin to let consciousness come back to you. Let awareness slowly come back."

Me: "What the hell are you talking about? 'Let awareness come back'? It was never gone!"

Instructor: "Slowly wiggle your toes."

My toes spasm like the love child of ADHD and schizophrenia.

Instructor: "Open your palms slowly, one finger at a time."

My hand SNAPS open. Then shuts. Like the jaws of a venus fly trap (Tangent: Whenever I think of this plant I think of my brother because he used to have one and love them.).

Instructor: "Rotate your ankles slowly in one direction, then the other. Now rotate your wrists in one direction, then the other."

Me: "Ohmygodjustletmeup!"

Namaste. Yoga's over. I then make my way upstairs to the treadmill for my run and finally get some peace and quiet while paying attention to nothing but the sweat making trails on my forehead, falling to oblivion and being spit out on the back of the treadmill, and the pounding of my feet on the track as I run to the beat of the music streaming through my headphones, taking the direct route to my brain and bodily forcing everything else out. Maybe I don't need yoga. Maybe my brain and body need a more active release. I'll probably still go to yoga though.

A peek into my mind. Not sure how this is a universally acknowledged truth...just one of my truths.

Blink, blink, blink...

Blink, blink, blink...

I've been staring at this damn blinking cursor for the last couple of minutes...

Why can't I write?

Blink, blink, blink...

Check Facebook. Nothing new. The same people are doing the same dumb things and reporting even the minutest detail of their lives via their Facebook status per the usual. As if I care.

Blink, blink, blink...

I'm building momentum now...

Blink, blink, blink...

What will I write my book about if I can't even write a blog post, hmmmm.

Blink, blink, blink...

Writing about not writing. Interesting.

Blink, blink, blink.

Blink.

Rainy Days...

It is a truth universally acknowledged that rainy days have the power to elicit emotions and moods like no other type of weather can...

For this rainy day, Duffy's Warwick Avenue seemed appropriate. There's something about her sultry songstress style that seems to lend itself perfectly to days just like today - a muted, grey rainy day.

Van Man!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I have the brightest, cutest, most loveable nephew ever...

I am still getting used to "blogging" and making it a priority - a time for myself to unwind and record my thoughts... So, in the meantime some of my posts will inevitably be short, sweet, and to the point. Or, as Bill O'Reilly would call them, pithy.

The Power of Metaphor

 I wrote for myself tonight.

I wrote for myself tonight after having been struck by sudden inspiration while reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love.

I wrote for myself tonight.

I find myself wanting to repeat that line over and over and over and marvel at the simple pleasure it brings me.

I wrote for myself tonight, not for a college professor, not for my job, not for any other purpose than just to write.

And this is what I wrote...an ode to my family, in metaphors.

The Power of a Metaphor

Perhaps the most powerful manner of description. To say that something actually is something else. A far cry from the minute comparison qualities of a simile, which merely claim that something has similarities to something else through employment of the words "like" or "as". To actually be something other than yourself, that is powerful.

Colleen, I begin with you as your name comes first to my mind. Colleen is a sunflower. Colleen is a butterfly. Colleen is an "anything that is strikingly and naturally beautiful yet surprisingly strong."

Van-man is a gremlin - cute, but don't get him wet or feed him after midnight...just kidding. :) Van is a lion cub. Van is a flying squirrel. Van is LOVE. Van is anything young, innocent, mischievous, energetic, and, most of all, endearingly sweet with an uncontrollable hunger for life and urge to run amok.

Brett is a spring rain. Brett is a salmon swimming upstream. Brett is an "anything that embodies the essence of nature." Brett is also "an anything that embodies a journey to reach your destination (In this case, the destination happens to be a loving wife, a brilliant, shining son, and a warm home rather than a stream bed in Alaska...though Brett would probably be happy there too.)".

Trevor, Trevor is an oak. Trevor is a pillar. Trevor is an "anything that exudes strength, conviction, and power while somehow simultaneously possessing a tenderness and softness that surprises most".

Mandy is a daisy. Mandy is a pastel - soft, delicate, fun, loving. Mandy is an "anything that possesses the quality of true and unwavering loyalty while also remaining quintessentially feminine and soft".

Mom is a wildflower in a kept garden. Mom is a dinner table (Allow me to explain that one. The dinner table is where the family gathers; it's the heart. So, Mom is a dinner table.). Mom is an "anything that continually surprises one with its previously unknown color, spark, vivacity". Mom is also an "anything that anchors a family".

Dad, Daddy, Daddy-O. Dad is a rock. Dad is a mama bear. Dad is a lighthouse. Dad is anything that is stubborn, solid, uncompromising. Dad is anything that is innately protective and would die for its own. Dad is anything that shines in the darkness and guides weary ships at sea to harbor.

Garrett is a petulant child. OK, only at the moment as I am noisily scribbling in my notebook, frantically trying to get my thoughts down on paper before they escape my brain forever, with the bedside lamp on while he's attempting to sleep. Really, Garrett is a mountain and Garrett is a kitten. Garrett, strong, immovable, yet soft, sensitive, and playful. Love of my life.

Me.
I am...
I am a...
.......

My pen rests here for the night due to the inability, or perhaps the desire, to define myself.