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November 19, 2013

Diary of a “Lazy” Yogi.

Yoga teachers, holler at me.

I cannot be the only instructor in the world who routinely can’t find time for my own practice.

I present—My Day Yesterday.

6:00 am. Waken to Tibetan chimes which are my new ringtone thanks to my nine year old son downloading Iowa seven (whatever that is) on my iPhone. Wonder why I am so sore. I haven’t done yoga in about a week. Perhaps I am coming down with the flu?

6:01 am. Struggle to arise from bed, slap at phone to turn off chimes, glance resentfully at snoring husband who will remain motionless for another hour.

6:03 am. Open door to my “office” (actually the dogs room) to discover a monstrous pile of dog vomit on the floor. Almost vomit myself as dogs, crazed with joy at our reunion, run to me right through the vomit, making vomit trails all over the hall.

6:10 am. Let dogs out. Wipe up vomit with beach towels.

6:20 am. Wake son. Snuggle into his warm string bean body for 30 seconds before he realizes I am there and wails “NOOOOO!” Feel sad as he kicks at me under the covers to get me off the bed.

6:25 am. Begin morning chores. Pack lunches, make pancakes for child, make smoothie for husband and self. Get paper, start laundry, empty dishwasher, feed dogs.

7:00 am. Collapse in chair with newspaper for approximately 10 seconds. Am summoned by miserable sounds of son erupting from the bathroom. He needs toilet paper. He has opened the bathroom door and is staggering toward me with his pants down.

7:01 am. Walk son back to bathroom, wipe his bum, try to put in new toilet paper. Am distraught when toilet paper dispenser rod doesn’t spring into place, instead flying out, sending the whole new roll directly into the un-flushed toilet. Make decision to leave mess for sleeping husband.

7:15 am. Shove son out the door to catch his bus. Remember I forgot to have him brush his teeth, take a signed permission slip I had waiting for him, and give him bottle of water. Begin running out the door after him in my bathrobe clutching water and permission slip, only to see him board the bus. Children gaze through bus windows contemptuously at me as I stand on the sidewalk in my bathrobe and sweat socks.

7:20 am. Go back to office/kennel and open computer. Check email, Facebook and writing notes from yesterday. Glance at giant sign I have posted as a reminder by my desk with the words, “Chant. Meditate.” written in red Sharpie. Scroll through Facebook again.

7:30 am. Start working on article about vegan cooking. Smell bacon being fried by husband downstairs.

8:30 am. Click on Facebook, look at “Chant. Meditate.” sign, realize this would be the perfect moment to chant and meditate. Decide to go brush teeth and get out of pjs instead. Am accosted in the bedroom by sounds of MSNBC and husband swearing at the computer waving a piece of bacon around while Bill Kramer shrieks about the Lululemon scandal on Mad Money. Shake my head noncommittally as husband asks if he should dump our Lulu stock. Brush teeth, put on Lulus.

8:45 am. Go back to office/kennel and write sequence for yoga classes later. Try to think of something inspirational to say. Go to Brainy Quotes website and find this; “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing,”~ Socrates. Decide he doesn’t know how right he is.

9:30 am. Pass again by “Chant. Meditate.” sign and ignore it, but can feel it’s red letters burning into the back of my head. Answer yes when husband yells down the hall asking if I’m ready to walk the dogs.

9:45 am. Walk dogs in woods. Hear rumor of rabid coyote from old guy who looks like Franz Kafka. Take him seriously because we have been chased by a coyote before. Leash dogs and spend rest of idyllic walk with shoulders on the verge of dislocation from trying to control exuberant Great Dane.

10:45 am. Go back home, wash mud off dogs with garden hose, grab handful of almonds. Go back to office/kennel, begin working on article about good and bad marriages. Ignore “Chant. Meditate.” sign.

11:45 am. Heat up vegan meatloaf for lunch. Deride myself for using a paper plate in the microwave. Wonder if I am going to get cancer.

Noon. Back to kennel/office to proof article. Determine it is stupid and trash the whole thing. Look at “Chant. Meditate.” sign, heave sigh and close computer. Chant. Meditate.

12:30 pm. Take shower and nap. Wish nap could magically extend into the evening and continue on until tomorrow am.

1:00 pm. Rise from nap, change load of laundry, put away clean clothes, make beds, sweep floors, get dinner ready for later because I have to work in the evening.

2:00 pm. Back to office/kennel to see if I can un-trash article about marriage. Maybe it was better than I thought. Realize it is gone forever and I will never know. Begin a re-write.

3:00 pm. Trash article again. Go downstairs to greet son after school. Feel sad when he walks in the door, drops his backpack on my foot and grunts when I ask him about his day. Can feel self turning into own mother.

3:15 pm. Leave early to teach, hoping to get some time to practice before class. Get stuck in traffic, arrive moments before students. Realize iPod is out of juice and I don’t know how to work CD player. Tell class music is a distraction anyway, and it’s more “yogic” to practice without it. Brave dubious looks from students.

6:45 pm. Wrap up (silent) classes. Ponder staying to practice myself. Thoughts pierced by Tibetan chime announcing text from husband; “Where is my buttered cup?” Wonder what the hell that is supposed to mean. Roll up mat and turn off studio lights.

7:30 pm. Heat up more vegan meatloaf on paper plate in microwave. Am grateful husband cooked and cleaned for everyone else until I see sink full of dishes. Debate whether dishes are retribution for morning toilet incident.

7:45 pm. Clean up dishes. Go upstairs to help son with homework. Find him building deadly weapon out of Legos. Duck when he shoots me with deadly weapon.

8:00 pm. Change out of Lulu’s and back into pjs, nod sadly as husband tells me amount of money we lost on our Lulu stock today.

8:30 pm. Check son’s homework, get son milk and granola bar, read Mr. Popper’s Penguins with son.

9:00 pm. Put son to bed. Realize I have once again forgotten to have him brush his teeth. Imagine granola particles eating into the pristine enamel of his molars. Decide he needs to sleep more than he needs his molars and walk away.

9:15 pm. Watch 15 minutes of Seinfeld.

9:30 pm. Let out dogs. Warily eye skunk in the corner of the yard, hose at the ready in case he gets too close.

9:45 pm. Ponder how, though the skunk didn’t spray the dogs, the whole house smells like skunk.

10:00 pm. Lights out. Husband must go to work tomorrow at five am.

Midnight. Can’t sleep. Wonder if it is because I am not chanting or meditating enough.

2:00 am. Black out. Dream about doing downward facing dog naked in front of a class full of skunks and coyotes. Wake in cold sweat. Vow to get in some time on the mat tomorrow. Black out again. Hope I don’t throw iPhone out the window when Tibetan chimes ring in three hours.

 

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Ed: Bryonie Wise

 

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