Friday, April 28, 2006

Reclamation Project

You may remember that on our wedding day, I went to a yoga class. The teacher taught a beautiful, heart-opening class (she was coming to the wedding and, thus, knew what I'd be doing that afternoon), and, as always, she ended class with a line from the yoga sutras: "Surrender to your heart." Lately, though, when I've managed to haul my sorry ass to her class, I find myself in tears by the end of class, even before she gets to that line. The class (but not practicing by myself at home, for example, and probably not classes with other teachers) ends up reminding me that I won't exactly "celebrate" the first anniversary of our marriage. But, in part thanks to a conversation with a friend about this dilemma, I've decided to reclaim the whole thing. The other thing I was thinking about today was a woman who was a fellow guest speaker in a smoking cessation group I did awhile ago (maybe last summer or the summer before). Unlike many people, she quit smoking in the middle of an extremely stressful time in her life--getting a divorce, a couple of small kids, had to find a job--which isn't always a good strategy. For her, though, the stress actually helped her quit smoking; as she said, everything else in her life felt so out of control, she decided that quitting smoking was the one thing she could control. So I asked myself: what can I control right now? And I realized that I can control my yoga practice--when and whether I practice, most notably. That didn't make me actually come home and practice, but it was nevertheless an important realization. Maybe it'll help me reclaim the class, too.

What I did do was come home--late (after 5:00 when I got here, which is late for me), because I worked my ass off today--and pour a bottle of Liquid Plum'r (or howeverthefuck they spell it) into the tub (still! from this morning!) full of water; talk on the phone for an hour or more; balance my checkbook (though I can't do the end-of-the-month accounting that's joint with Craw until he does the same); clean up some of the crap around this pit; eat some dinner; and lament that my tub remains full of water and Liquid Plum'r. Looks like no shower for me in the morning, which is a drag, because that's how my brain knows to wake up. They should have it fixed by the time I get home, though, which is one of the advantages of living in a building this expensive, at which point I will be able to clean the bathroom, which was on the original list of chores for today. I still haven't vacuumed up the dust buffalo roaming freely around the apartment, and I won't get to that one tonight. I also haven't done more than an initial sort of my mail basket, but I've done enough to know that there's only one bill in it right now.

Yes, I'm still stressing mightily about finding a place to live, and I'm starting to get on my own goddamned nerves already. It's probably a way of not thinking about, for example, the anniversary party for my parents, to and from which I must fly and which I must attend with Craw, or about what I'm going to do next, or whatever. It's as if I've poured all of my potential anxieties into this one arena. Whatever; I don't have endless patience for my own crap. I had a nice little pity party on the way home from work today, and by the time I walked in the door I was pretty tired of it. Cleaning things up around here didn't hurt, either, standing water in the tub notwithstanding. I know: maybe I was just sad because my apartment was dirty, and cleaning it up made me feel happy! Yeah, that's it!


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