Pre-Yoga Me Vs. Post-Yoga Me

Argh. This day sucks. It’s stuffy in here and I can’t think of anything to write. I shift constantly in my seat, as if my frustrated movements will somehow bring about the results I’m looking for. But no, all I’m doing now is fidgeting like there’s an itch in my pants that I’m too stubborn to just reach down and scratch while staring at a blank Word document. Did I mention how stuffy it is in here?

Shouldn’t I be further along in my career by now anyway? What if I never make it further along in my career? Oh God I better check my bank account. Damn I don’t have any money. Damn, Damn. When will I have money? I hate not having money. And I already said I’d go out for dinner tonight for my friend’s going away party. What t am I going to wear anyway? I hate all my clothes. I wish I had some money to buy more clothes. Damn, he’s going to be there, the one from the weekend. I wonder if I’ll get my period today and if I do will he still go home with me? God it’s stuffy in here.

Shit it’s almost time for yoga. Maybe I just wont go. But I already signed up and paid all that money—why my broke ass thought that I was a good idea I’ll never know. Who has time for yoga anyway? I’ve got too much work to do. Who are these damn yoga hippies anyway and why do they seem intent on slowing down the flow of capitalism? I better have a quick shower, the soles of my feet are filthy and I don’t want anyone to see that. OK got it, where are my gym clothes. Gym clothes, LOL, like I’ve ever been to the gym. Here this old singlet I never wear and these leggings with holes will do. Man I should buy some new clothes for all the working out I never do.

Lucky this studio is just across the road or I never would have made it. It’s even stuffier in here than it was at home, great, 3 poses in and I’m already dripping sweat on the matt. This is too hard. I can’t do it. That hurts. No that looks stupid. Damn, lady, stop pushing my joints into poses that require so much stretching. I just want to sit down on this here matt and maybe eat some fried chicken. What does yoga have to say about that? OK, this is ridiculous, how much longer do I have to hold this stupid downward dog… Oh yeah, good, that feels alright if I just stare at that point on the matt… Focus, Kat, stop being such a pussy… Focus… Hey where did all the thoughts in my brain go?


Wait, has it really been an hour and half? Oh, how did this lovely scented oil get all over my face? I have to get up now. Getting up. Oh yes that feels nice. Standing. Walking. Floating. Float to the change rooms. Pick up my belongings. Do I have enough money for a coffee? No matter, the only thing that matters is being a good person. I should try much harder to be a good person. Yes I think I’ll text all my friends and tell them I love them. Or maybe I’ll wait—technology is tearing us apart. Where’s Mother Nature when you need her? Maybe I should go on that Labor Day weekend yoga retreat, it sounds so nice.

I’m stumbling on the pavement, shuffling my feet dreamily, eyes still only half open. Oh isn’t this so lovely? Look at all these lovely people in the street. We’re so different on the surface but underneath we’re all the same, isn’t that so beautiful? Yes, I’m going to try so much harder to be a good person. Nothing matters but goodness. Goodness in your soul. Oh here’s the coffee shop! Hello coffee man, “may I pleaseeeeee have an iced Americanoooooo,” I’m purposefully pushing $3 into his hand, “thank-you sooooooo much.” He looks at me strangely and I just smile sleepily at him, he’s so beautiful, we all are. I wish I could love him.

I float home. I drink my coffee. It tastes like it’s fallen from heaven. I love that coffee man so much. How lucky am I to have such a wonderful coffee! I’m so happy. I think we should all chip in and buy my friend’s dinner tonight because he’s leaving and we love him. We love him so much. Money is no object when you love someone. Money is expendable, love is eternal. I should do some work, I should write about this experience. Oh, that’s so capitalist of me! I smile at the succulent on my desk. I’m writing anyway. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

image – diamondmountain

I am Kat George, Vagina Born. Mother of food babies. WHERE ARE MY BURRITOS?!?! Buy my book here.

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