The Yoga Lass: An Island of Discovery

It is almost 2am, and it is not possible for me to relax. My body is aware that some movement took place this evening. Tuesday evenings have found me in the presence of a yoga teacher for the last couple of weeks. I have been so very proud of myself for doing something physical without any purpose other than moving my body. After my devastating pole termination, physical activity simply vanished from my life. Finally, I felt safe enough to try a studio with a yoga offering. The time was was good as well as the location of the studio. The instructor was very nice. However, this evening when I walked in, a new face greeted me. It was minutes later that I realized the new face was the new instructor. A huge smile crossed my face as my feet made a beeline for her spot on the floor. My voice was heard asking about her other locations for classes. My ears immediately detected an island lilt, and that began an hour of smiles.
She was attentive. She was understanding. She broke positions down and burned incense. Shells adorned her ankles and a scarf covered her head. Her aura was green, and her skin glowed from coconut oil no doubt…wait, perhaps that is my skin. Moving on. Apparently, she just moved to town and was only teaching at this studio for now. I do not know her name. I do not know how to contact her, and I wanted to give her my number in case she vanished. A growing predicament emerged on my cell phone, and it was necessary for me to vacate the premises.
Once my house accepted me once more, food was thrown on the stove in a hungry fit. As it cooked, my fingers shot the studio an email demanding more yoga classes with the fabulous new instructor because simply put, I loved her. I texted my yogini friend whom insisted on joining me for the next class to check out my radical find. A new mat is in order, and more yoga classes are wanted. Who is this individual that made me smile with her island charm? Perhaps I shall have a name next week.

PERIOD RAMPAGE

The cramps have begun. Between my oil and giant pills, the pain game is being played. I have been fighting with my damn uterus since the adolescent scandal of 13. In spite of the fact that I have a bikini wax scheduled for the morning, my menstrual cycle has decided to arrive and make my left boob feel like an alien has invaded my body. The ginger candy and hot fudge topping round out my dinner. I wonder if my monthly pain payments and period regimen (sleeping on top of towels, dark colors, all kinds of pads filling my purse, etc.), are accepted as a deposit towards pregnancy. Mother Nature needs to sit down with us and explain this. Women get upset over menopause, and I am trying to figure out why…..