Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile
Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile
His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean
And you’re the best thing that he’s ever seen
Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/lay-lady-lay#ixzz2U9aJT4Sj
Tres is working two jobs through the weekend. He’s working on a fitness challenge, too. I’m trying to network and get the kids through their errands. I saw him for three minutes today. I saw him for an hour yesterday. He couldn’t sleep last night, so he went to the couch. We’ll get sometime next week when he takes vacation, but for now I’ll be lucky if he sees me here.
Thanks for the kind hearts ladies.
Funny thing. The scale is barely budging. The tape measurements seem frozen, too. Is it possible my washing machine is weaving in the stray bits of missing socks to make my clothes look bigger?
“The salad bar at Harris Teeter is EPIC. On par with Ruby Tuesday, for sure,” said the Starbucks barista to her mildly amused co-worker. I’m certain this conversation was not intended for my judgement. I bit my sarcastic lips to keep from adding even a condescending giggle. From the back of the room, I silently witnessed a moment of greatness.
I have seen the wonders of the world, great and small. Babies born to me and others. Parents dying in crushing agony. I’ve seen the art and architecture of masters gone for a millennia.
I’ve sweet-talked my way out of tight spots without ever sacrificing my body or dignity. I’ve stood by broken people putting their bodies and minds back together. I’ve learned to walk away when some have refused to help themselves.
I’ve eaten things I’d have never imagined. I have carried those calories and recipes like armor. I’m learning to let them go. I can’t take them with me. All I have is right now.
So instead of mocking some stranger for hyperbole or assumed naïveté, I choose to see her joy for what it was: a spontaneous delight with the bounty before her. May we all be so awake to see that.
It worked, too.
We practiced working through our shoulder ROM, challenging our balance through crescent pose with a shoulder opener. Lifting and rotating to Warrior I with steeple hands playfully finding our “Angels” pose. 20 minutes and an extended balance sequence later, our Angels pose helped us lift into Warrior III.
You guys are welcome to carpool from DCTU to catch my class. I’ll keep extra mats handy.
There once was a musical performer named Sisqo. In his most well-known song, he claims to appreciate women with “dumps like a truck, truck, truck.”
Now, WHAT THE FUCK does that mean?!
This reminds me of a drunken night in Italy. The conversation looped from Dante’s Inferno to my translation of these lyrics.
I’m trying really hard to find a healthier version of me. I want my open heart to be stronger. I want my body to be my business card. I want to wear these God damned bikinis I’m making with pride before I turn 40.
Yet here I am. Awake for two hours. Too tired to fall back asleep. Too listless to get moving. I should have made breakfast by now. I should be getting the kids ready for lessons. I feel brain dead. It’s more than end of the year laziness. There’s a mild headache that nags me. I feel tired after my classes, but they seem to lack intensity while in the moment. These feelings of not quite connecting have haunted me for over a week.
I can see from my journals that I’m not eating enough. I’m losing myself by millimeters. The results being that my clothes give off a slight slatternly look. I spend far too much effort playing tug of war with my clothing. I need to find some balance. Be kinder to myself; things will happen if I stop forcing it.
Fuck. Just ready to hit send when Tres called. His friend died on Monday. Fuck cancer. Life is too damned short not to enjoy the blessings I have. Still, I don’t know if I should say “fuck it, cookies and beer before we waste it all” or should I resolve to keep fighting lest I waste the graces I’m given. I’m making breakfast. Let’s move forward.
