Today I learned that doing yoga when I can’t breathe in all the way because my lungs are filled with crap (well, ok, phlegm and not really crap, but in this one instance, crap sounds way less gross) makes me feel really weak (like a kitten!) and sort of high. But, dude, I’m not a stoner and so I just got dizzy, my muscles turned to butter and I felt sorta barfy and sorta like I wanted to eat biscotti without dunking them first. And I kept thinking, heh — it’s Sickram-Bikram yoga, and laughing to myself.
Clearly, I was out of my mind.
I forgot flipflops and so I walked out to the van barefoot and was almost knocked on my ass by the beautiful yellow full-a-couple-of-days-ago moon. Even the clouds knew to cooperate and arranged themselves all gorgeous in the sky. And, mmmmm, cold pavement under your feet after being in a 105 degree room with 43 people for 90 minutes is yummy.
Sunday morning we got up early and went for a mini-hike (two miles, three? I dunno, but in a beautiful spot) before meeting up with John’s family for a Thanksgiving get together. We don’t do that enough. The getting together, I mean. I may have to throw a big-ass party for Willow when she turns five and invite everyone. Lee? are you game?
I dreamed the other night that I had a tiny little puppy. I was shopping (at whole paycheck for some reason) for a leash and food and a water dish while carrying the puppy in my arms. Ever since I woke up, I’ve been seriously missing this little dog. I think it may have to do with Willow not being a baby anymore. Or, it could be because Willow watched Lady and the Tramp twice the other night while I was working late in the living room (and, um, drinking sake). Hell if I know. But I am haunted by this little dream puppy.
Bed. Srsly. 5:30 gets earlier every single day.