We’re a cranky household this week.
Neither one of us has done our morning practice for four days. They
have been four long, long days.
My lovely man’s been working and,
well, I don’t know what else. I’ve been doing late nights in the
theatre and feel as though my circadian rhythms, which include waking
at 3:30 or 4am, will never return to normal.
Pat walks by me two or three times a
day with his hand on his low back, moaning, “yoga, yoga, yoga.”
Come to think of it, my low back’s a
bit wonky too, despite the fact that my pre-show warm up every
evening is basically a shortened yoga practice. What gives?
What gives is that I prefer the full
meal deal. I love the dark, the early hour, the full practice, the
savasana, and my meditation. My low back and every other part of me
wants the stretch, the warm strength moves, the standing balances,
the back bends, the spinal twists, not to mention the focus, the
acceptance of what is, the self-love, and the love for the day. The
full morning gift to myself.
Can you identify?
So don’t call, don’t write.
Tonight I’m going to bed early, and I’m getting up at four.
I’ll be a much happier woman the next
time we chat.
Thanks to yoga for being such a
demanding friend. Thanks to you for the conversation,