Monday, November 25, 2013


I've always thought of yoga more as a symptom than a pastime, an unavoidable tic developed by "morning people" types who have brightly coloured, healthy-breakfast-cereal-commercial, chirpy mornings. They have enjoyable, upbeat starts to their day, and then they head off to yoga.

How I imagine yoga types start the day:
Eyes snap open with a jaunty glimmer and a serene half-smile from yet another good night's sleep. Cancel the alarm before it comes on and wink at the little numbers. Better luck next time. A quick revitalising shower, then pull on the dressing gown and off to the kitchen. Humming along with the radio as the ingredients are sliced, diced, and placed with a flourish into the blender. Summer smoothie. A lesiurely ten minutes drinking and catching up on all the goings on, check the calendar, no surprises. A little self-satisfied grimace at the wheatgrass shot, the sacrifices we make, then back to the bedroom. Today's clothes were laid out the night before, gym bag packed on the dresser redolent with the crisp smell of fresh laundry. A few gentle stretches to loosen up the body and a glance in the mirror to check nothing's out of place. Nothing is. Flick aside the curtain and it looks as though it might just be gloves weather. Top drawer on the left. Hmm, red gloves today. Wallet in one pocket, phone in the other. Merry little jingle as they keys are picked up. Out into the bracing cold, another glorious day underway.

How I start the day:
Get jerked from sleep by the alarm. Hit snooze. No time for tea now. Hit snooze. No time for a shower now. Hit snooze. No time. Admit that the alarm's never going away. Stare at the little red digits in stunned rage for several seconds. Swing legs out of bed. Grope around in the darkness for clothes, any tshirt not covered by other clothes is fresh enough to wear. Ditto any sock that can't be located by smell. Rub fists in eyes, tense up shoulders, hit the light switch and wince. Walk to kitchen. Choose cereal based on box colour because it's too early for reading. Get milk. Avoid looking at expiry date. Tink of the spoon on the bowl. Crunch. Slurp. Tink. Crunch. Slurp. Too much milk as usual. Sluuuuurp. Check phone, no messages, two emails. Mark emails as read, still too early for reading. Into the front pocket. Find wallet. Wallet, wallet, wallet, fucking wallet. Get wallet. Back pocket. Get bag, shake to check for keys. Look in mirror, regret doing so. Open the door and get angry at the cold. Close the door and head down the street.

I'm not entirely sure I'd like to take up yoga, but I think I'd like the mornings.

Next week's word is yesterday.

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