Sunday, February 12, 2017

Morning Session

My feet are relaxing, my feet are relaxing, my feet are relaxed, and so on, working my way up my body through my legs, my hips, my guts, my chest, all the way to the top of my head as I lay on my yoga mat. My body, whether as a result of too much sleep, or the two margaritas I had last night that kicked like a pair of mules, appears in my mind's eye like a poorly drawn cartoon: all thick, wavy, unstable lines, parts phasing in and out of existence.

I breathe, I stretch, pushing and pulling each part, each muscle group, smoothing out the chunky, awkward lines of flesh and thought until the flickering boundaries of me come back in sync, and I am whole again. By the end of an hour-and-a-half, the cartoon has been replaced by an oil painting, the brush strokes disguised, the edges of me sanded down to soft lines and a clear, unwavering gaze (for now).
One year ago today: Do You Like Piña Coladas?
Two years ago today: After a Fashion
Three years ago today: We Are Conspicuous at the Comedy Show
Four years ago today: The solution
Nine years ago today: 2-12-08 My Lungs are a Swamp

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