I don't do yoga anymore..
mainly because I couldn't justify waking up that early.
and because instead of finding my chi, I was finding a crummy attitude and the need for a nap two hours later.
5:30 is far too close to the time I go to bed to be the time I wake up.
maybe when I'm forty.
maybe.
It's been awhile I guess... since the last time I sat here thinking about how to put things into words.. I thought for a long time that this was a monumental waste of time.. and it may be..but I've wasted time on less worthy things.
I was at work today and saw a child growl at his mother. yes.. growl. rather, I heard him growl.
You see, his mother was calmly explaining to him.. let's call him Billy... she was explaining to Billy that five mozzarella sticks was enough, and that he didn't need more.. Billy, crushed with the injustice of being denied more fried cheese, glared up at his stern mother and let out, from somewhere strange within him, what was unmistakably meant to be a growl. I pictured my seven year old bespectacled self growling at my mother, and it was followed by the mental image of a painful spanking and a swift exile to "time out."
Not Billy.
Billy's mother GROWLED BACK.
for a moment I wasn't at the pool at all... I was at home on my couch watching an episode of Animal Planet unfold before my eyes.
is that how people handle things these days? Has the advice of Dr. Phil gone awry? Or is this just one freak incident in which Billy was truly raised as a feral child by wolves and his "mother" was actually a woman who rescued him from the Canadian forests? I may never know. What I do know is that I only work for two more weeks, so my odds of being growled at by Billy the wild child are growing fewer...
