Sunday, June 18, 2006


So I went to this yoga class in Park Slope last night. Beautiful space—skylight in the center of the studio and these draping plants everywhere. Like being in the center of this giant bowl of life. It was hot so I sweated a lot… Although mysteriously none of the others in the room were sweating as much as me. Still, it was this wonderfully choreographed vinyasa class. Handstand, headstand and this really cool thing where you go from a traditional backbend and then walk your hands up the wall to standing.

But afterwards I felt. I don’t know. Angry. This has never happened to me before, but still, this morning these weird feelings of unease and resentment keep percolating up in me. And I know this is nuts, but I feel like that intense class just dislodged all these bad feelings I've been having lately--about myself, my fucking shit writing career and what the fuck I'm doing with my life--I'm 33 for chrissake!--and now everything's just coursing through my overheated blood.


So today's father's day and Rod, his sister Lara, Dad, stepmom Lori, their dog Shecky, and I are going to central park for a picnic. Rod made chicken salad last night.


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