i love my daughter really a whole lot but i kind of hate yoga

This morning was a Fuck This Fucking Shit morning.  You know those mornings.  The ones when you can’t remember a single viable reason why you do any of the shit you usually do.  Like, holy crap, who cares, right???

For example, “I’m not doing yoga,” I announced to no one.  “Fuck yoga.  Yoga sucks.  Nobody cares if I knock myself out on the mat every day, why do I work so hard at this, anyway?  I should give it up.  It wouldn’t change a damn thing.  I’m just going to flake out on the couch.”  Oh, yeah, I was a real pleasure to be around this morning.

Honestly, yoga has been hard lately.  My wrists have been aching and kind of burning—as a result, clearly, of a resurgence of interest in improving my jumpback.  So I’ve been doing more jumpbacks, on blocks, and more forcefully—well, not forcefully, but just, you know, pushing myself.  STUPID.  I always get hurt whenever I decide I’m going to try harder on any aspect of the Primary.  I really should have learned by now to cut that out.

Anyway, this morning, in addition to pining for coffee, being short with Paul, and hating my novel, I hated yoga too.  Go me.

But then Sophie says, “Mom, you should do your yoga so that you that when you’re old you don’t walk like this,” and she demonstrates a hunchbacked posture and takes a few mincing steps.  “If you give up yoga then you’re backbend will look like this,” she strains to get a glimpse of the ceiling from a face that is pointed down-ish over hunched shoulders, “and you won’t be able to play with me.  You should do your yoga because I want to play with you even when you’re old.”


Okay, yeah, I’m tearing up a little bit.  Piss off.

Sigh.  So, anyway, I did yoga.  A lame-ass, grumbling yoga practice, true, but still.

Good to remember that somebody does care, after all.

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