stalking inner peace
January 27. 2000
In a feeble attempt to finally get myself in shape, I went to my first yoga class tonight. The first one, which was supposed to have been on Tuesday, was canceled because of the snow. It was freezing cold when I walked across campus to a dank little room tucked off into a corner of Presidents' Hall. Ironically enough, it was the class that I had IH last semester. Bad association vibes.
The class itself was rather frustrating and painful. It once again confirmed what a lump college has turned me into. The teacher was a graduate glass student, a rather slimy guy with the faint stench of b.o. lingering around him. But he was a good teacher, at least. However, the most disgusting aspect of this whole affair was the floor on which we were working. It was one of those ambiguously brown all weather carpets, in this case littered with bits of food, wrappers, and scraps of paper. Because of the snow, it was slightly damp where people had walked. Whenever one put a hand or arm on the carpet, it came away with this slightly sticky film that clung to the skin until it had a chance to be washed off.
Ugh. I almost dry heaved a couple of times. I plan to bring a mat of some sort for next week.
But I am determined to stick with this yoga thing (and perhaps throw some tai chi in if I have time) and become more flexible, more healthy and more able to kick anyone's ass.
Afterward, I watched "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" in my friends' Cristina and Ivy's room. I can see why that damn show is so popular. It's addicting. I'm amazed by the insipidness of some of the contestants, though. Naturally, being the competitive whore that I am, I yelled out all the answers, getting about 90% right (I even knew that the youngest president ever inaugurated was Teddy Roosevelt, and I even knew he was 42. ha! The useless shit I have stored in my brain).
We went to the Oaklane Diner for a late dinner and to celebrate my birthday (although it was 2 months late, still very much appreciated). I then had to trudge home and do a drawing for drawing class, which despite being incredibly half-assed, still got a good grade from Chuck.
music: Heather Nova, Siren
food: dried fruit
read: Why I am Not a Christian, by Bertrand Russell
sight: sore muscles. ow
nothing's gonna stop me from floating
-Father Lucifer, Tori Amos
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