I’m writing a post because I just realized my tweets just aren’t cutting it with how much fail I feel and how my mind has been made up, but my body just completely failed me, though to be fair, I haven’t been treating myself properly (physically) for the last few/several weeks — so it’s really my fault anyway for screwing this up. And I don’t care how much people say (including myself) ‘mind over matter’, but the power of thought will just not carry my body through a 90 min session of hot yoga (right now).
Tweet 1:
yoga in a few hours is fail because i have wicked insomnia & someone this tired should not be sticking herself in an extremely hot/humid rm.
Tweet 2:
i do not want to have heatstroke this morning, i do not want to have to deal with passing out after 30 min.
Tweet 3:
i WILL do this yoga thing bc i want to feel better, but i don’t want to have to kill myself in the process of doing so (&I’ve been 1/2 dead)
I’ve had this odd obsession with Bikram/hot yoga for almost 2 years now, since attending 3 classes with a cousin on my 2nd to last visit to Manila (Philippines).I found it odd that it felt much warmer, and far more humid inside this little studio than it was outside. Manila’s got some insane (but I love it!) tropical weather. At any rate, I don’t think I ever made it through any of the three classes without finding the need to sit down and just breathe (if we sat out part of the time, we weren’t allowed to close our eyes) at least 2x. It also didn’t help that I definitely had the flu a day after the third class. Despite the oppressive conditions, I actually found some peace of mind, and remarkably a sense of refreshment after every class. Just as long as I remembered to ignore the gross feeling of sweat on every surface and crevice (some that I didn’t even know existed) of my body. I don’t sweat that much, and even when I was forced to exercise in high school/college I don’t think I ever sweat *that* much.
At any rate, I’ve been addicted to that feeling I’ve never quite gotten since. It’s difficult for me to put into words, but it’s something I’ve always strived for. Imagine my delight when I discovered a nice studio not too far from my new apartment. I’d just never gotten a chance to go because: driving there is unfamiliar, I didn’t have the proper amount of funds, having my sleep schedule all turned on its head due to lack of employment…etc… all these other stupid reasons. The last reason has been the biggest determent. How can I go, know that I can’t physically make it through such a grueling session but want to go so badly it kills me to know that I *KNOW* my body won’t be able to take the stress? I can’t punish myself physically for wanting to get that euphoric fix… AND I have to operate a moving vehicle directly after.
If pulling an all-nighter (which is completely non-voluntary these days, I assure you) is the equivalent of having a drink or two, I shouldn’t be driving, much less put my body in an equally harmful situation. I’ve had wicked insomnia for nearly a month now. It’s not nearly as detrimental when I know I don’t have to be up early in the morning… but not so good when I need to be at the studio about 30 min before the class to get myself settled, and since I’m not a morning person, have to be up earlier just to get myself out of the apt. Which is now not happening, since I know I hadn’t gotten any sleep. Despite trying various relaxation and meditation techniques (besides counting sheep) — which have historically worked… just not tonight. Er, last night. Or the vast number of sleepless nights I’ve had lately.
In conclusion, I will attempt to once again go to bed close to the crack of dawn — with no chance of me waking/getting up in an hr to get to the yoga that I so desperately want, but won’t actually be able to get my money’s worth. I am made of self-motivational fail.
freakish thing of note: the word count right before ‘in conclusion…’ was 666. Evil.
future thing of note: whenever I do get around to attempting yoga again, I’ll post more. hopefully I’ll end up feeling better about everything. which has been the plan from the start.
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Must be a British thing. Or a Neil thing. Either way, highly amusing, and most of the small children in the audience (I mean, Peter and the Wolf!!) seemed as captivated as we were. They played a festivus piece (I forget the full name, and am rapidly fading, so too lazy to look it up) before Neil. And two pieces afterwards… the 3rd was something about eternal strings, and a trumpet player in the balcony — which was absolutely riveting. And the last piece was a very very long thing, complete with a tenor, singing the praises of Henry Hudson exploring the NY/Manhattan area. It was rather long for my tastes, and I soon found myself squirming and getting restless… It’s not that I don’t appreciate a good orchestra, and the whole thing was amazing… but hm. Actually, that wasn’t the last piece. The last piece, the conductor invited us to get up and dance a la a Russian ballroom. And that’s when we saw her. Miss Amanda Palmer dancing gaily near the stage, first with an unidentified man, then to our viewing pleasure, her new fiancee. Geez, I just sounded like a complete voyeur there. 
Too wiped from last night’s foray. Need to finish Christmas shopping though.
I’m not my favorite person right now.
This is somewhat of a public apology to someone who will never read it. Someone I will more than likely (if either of us can help it) never see or interact with again. Better that way. Call it a conscience thing, the suffocating blanket of Catholic guilt that I will never shake…
What I did isn’t important. My reasons/excuses for having done it aren’t important (and on top of that, there is no actual valid reason or excuse for this to ever have happened).
Even after this is posted, I don’t think I’ll ever feel better about the whole incident, I may forget it after a while. But I’ll never be able to look back and feel good about myself or ever feel validated for having done it. There is no other direction except away from this, to never look back. Because looking back just makes everything worse.
He wasn’t all the way completely right in everything. And neither was I. I was never always completely innocent either. I need to remember to realize that. I need to remember it.
That’s enough now. Enough.
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