Contrary to Popular Opinion, I AM Good at Denying Things
Originally posted at Uncreated Conscience.
I am stressed about something, but I can’t quite pinpoint what exactly it is I am stressed about. Certainly looking for a full-time position while revising my novel and trying to juggle familial and romantic expectations at the same time is wearying, but not exactly stressful. Yet my body is carrying the weight across my shoulders and I have been having the most bizarre dreams ever. For instance, last night I dreamt I was in a shoppe looking for a pair of jeans when the saleslady refused to sell me a pair because they were 27″ short and “only for fat girls.” I said I didn’t care if they were for fat girls, all I wanted was a pair of jeans that fit. (For the record, I hate this two sizing system nonsense when it comes to pants. Also, the inch measurements are a total lie. I don’t have a 27″ waist. I wish I did. The “waistband” doesn’t even reach the natural waist. Anyway, carry on.) The dream then morphed into another one where I was in a house and watching someone jump from the Skyvan, except he didn’t open his parachute and just crashed into the hedge by my house. He got up and shook himself off and walked away. In his place there was a really ugly and deformed cat that I was expected to love and care for except all I could feel was revulsion.
Now, people who are well-versed in dream interpretation, tell me those aren’t the product of stress! But what am I necessarily stressed about? I have no clue. Life is generally pretty good for a person like me. Those who have known me long enough know I don’t spazz without sufficient reason. I haven’t spazzed out yet.
Last night Rachel and I went to a candelit yoga class at Yoga to the People on St. Mark’s. I felt so good afterwards (even if I was drenched in buckets of sweat): limber, loose, and relaxed. The class itself was marvelous, with the exception of That Obnoxious “Yogini” Who Thinks S/He’s the Shit. You know there’s usually one in every class, yeah? The one who tries to call attention to him/herself in some way in order to receive validation from the instructor for the perfection of their asanas?
TOYWTSTS in our class last night manifested this attention-seeking tendency with the World’s. Loudest. Moans. Granted, I’m guilty of a few moans myself during my practice as a way of cathartic release, but this woman, she has me beat.
“UUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhommmmmMMMMMMMM…”
Every. Five. Minutes. The instructor would tell us to exhale “Haaaa” and we would all comply except TOYWTSTS.
“UUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhommmmmMMMMMMMM…”
Her projection rivalled that of any opera singer. My “om”s are resonant inside my head and chest and deeply centering. Her omMMMMMMMMs are…not.
In a few weeks I plan to take Rachel with me to hot yoga. This should be interesting, hehe.