I got up pretty late today. Like, early-afternoon late. When that starts happening, it’s a bad sign. Oversleeping is a very good indicator that I’m not happy in life. So I dragged my ass out of bed and went to my appointment today with Wiggles — which meant I had to drive past the intersection where I got in my accident. I was very, very careful this time. There was a car coming down 35th as I was turning, but he stopped at the stop sign and then slowly pulled into the intersection, because it’s difficult to see if a car is coming down Bagley. Crisis avoided.
Per usual, I ended up crying in Wiggles’ office. I never cry except in there. I decided that my life feels stagnant again. I don’t cope well when my life’s stagnant. I need constant forward motion. And I know that’s something I need to learn to cope with — I need to be okay just being, but I’m not at all okay just being. It makes me crazy.
I came home with the idea that I needed to go to yoga tonight. I haven’t been in forever. I thought it would be a good way to feel more at peace in my body and mind. There’s a new hot yoga studio that just opened in Queen Anne, and they had a class at 5:30. I figured it would be an hour — I’d go to the class, come home and change real quick, and then head off to improv at 7. I did hot yoga once at a studio in Scottsdale and I liked it. I thought going to hot yoga was just the best idea I’d had in weeks.
ZOMG. It was awful. It was the most horrible thing ever. First of all, this studio was at least 10 degrees hotter than the studio I’d been to in Scottsdale, and it was much smaller. The heat and the stillness of the air were absolutely suffocating. The poses she had us do were impossible. (And this wasn’t an advanced class or anything.) They were crazy feats of balance that I’d previously believed only yoga gurus attempted. Except everyone else in the class seemed to be able to do them … but me. The instructor was, of course, perfectly chipper, saying “please” before she told us what pose to do, one after another, calmly, like a sniper bringing down targets. She didn’t seem at all concerned with the fact that she was basically torturing us. It was all just delightful to her! And the class wasn’t an hour, it was an hour and a half, but it felt like it went on for a day and a half. It was never going to end. I felt like I was going to pass out the whole time. I couldn’t relax — I needed to be extra alert just to maintain consciousness. I kept waiting for my body to surrender and feel at peace, which is what always happens to me in regular yoga, but it never happened. The entire class was a torturous struggle. There were seriously quite a few times when I was worried I would pass out. It was totally miserable. I left angry and bitter and broken and not at all at peace with anything.
The worst part? I totally have to do it again. The competitor in me won’t let me quit after just going once. But Lord I am dreading it. How can anyone enjoy this shit? It’s a fucking bloodbath.
By the time I left yoga, my improv class had already started. That’s okay, I told myself, I’ll just go late. I swung by my apartment to get changed, got in the elevator, and the elevator … got stuck. The door had come off its rails and it couldn’t get all the way shut, so it just stuck there, about half an inch open, and made grinding noises. We couldn’t pry it open. Luckily, one of my neighbors had watched it happen from the outside, so he called the complex manager (my cell phone didn’t work inside the elevator) and we eventually got the doors to open. After that little incident, I had no intention of going to improv.
I ran into my neighbor Hailey as I was walking to my door, and she was heading out to hit golf balls with my friend Staci. I told her I’d meet them there. I didn’t feel like going to improv, but I didn’t want to be alone all night. I’ve never really “hit” golf balls in my life, but Hailey and Staci taught me a lot about it, and I actually had a few good swings. This was not one of them:
Here’s Staci kicking some ass. She and Hailey are really good.
It ended up being a blast. I much prefer hitting golf balls to doing hot yoga, and it was just nice to be around the girls and shoot the shit. Also: There are some really hot guys who play golf. Totally preppy and clean-cut, definitely my type. We’re going to try to go weekly. Maybe one day I’ll actually play a real game of golf! Wouldn’t that be something?
