Saggy Baggy Yoga Pants
Have you ever heard of Pilates exercise? For the longest time, I read it as the plural of Pontius. As it turns out, it's not quite as closely related to crucifixion as one might think. Apparently it's pronounced "pi-LAH-teez", for one thing. A few friends from town politics invited me to come and do a regular class with them. So, Sunday evenings, now, that's what I'm doing.
Ouch. Remember to breathe. Seriously, I keep forgetting, and then the teacher says, "and inhale," and I find yet again I have been holding my breath trying to concentrate on whatever the hell I'm supposed to be doing. It's good, though. I can use the strengthening, certainly.
I hunted in the closet for the yoga pants I know I own--somewhere!--because the sweatpants I wore at the first class kept flopping all over the place. Found 'em. Put 'em on. Looks like the skin from the saggy baggy elephant story.
One, two, three, kick! (this only makes sense if you remember the saggy baggy elephant story; apologies if you don't.)
I'm probably not going to go knit with the gang in Acton today, as I'm finishing up a project that's due today; see you at Javaroom, whoever's there.
Thanks, Old Round and Jena and Lynne; I'm feeling better today. Cranky. But better. I'm not sure I want to go to the bereavement support group that meets on Thursday, since they wouldn't let me come when I really needed to ("you're just too raw") and it pissed me off. Also I think it's a more God-oriented group than I'm comfortable with. Also it pisses me off that "all are welcome" except evidently me if I'm in a lot of pain, and no kids, please. How very welcoming. And inclusive! Oh, yes! I forgot to mention!
Looks like a definite, then--not going. Maybe this is that anger I keep reading about. (geez, Liz, ya think?)