Yoga

Just walked out of a not-so-slow flow yoga class. My mom invited me, and I almost declined because I have so many syllabi to read, but something pulled me away from all that black and white.

So, I’m in this “slow flow” yoga class, where each breath translates into a full body movement, and I’m thinking so hard about not thinking, and breathing, and slipping and school clothes how I want to look tomorrow the opposite gender pain happiness living dying singing, when it occurs to me that my mind is like a first grader; it simply refuses to shut the eff up. So I just urged it to think yogically. Here’s what I got: I want to marry a man that does yoga. Not a man that will go to yoga with me if I ask, but a man that I, like, meet in a yoga class. Ya pickin’ up what I’m layin’ down?

Forty minutes later, I got a slightly deeper thought. My best feature is not my soulful eyes, or my long, Barbie-like legs (not), but my mind! See how down to earth I am?

I think I need to learn how to meditate.

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