I dragged myself to yoga today, finally. I had been meaning to try out the new studio for months, and I have been failing in my quest to practice yoga on my own. I realize doing that on some level is just one more instance of not leaving the house. Not too healthy, so I went. As far as the class, I liked the one I took last year through the Parks better (cancelled). But it was a perfectly serviceable Vinyasa. I was really glad I went. There was again an extreme kind of rainfall happening, the kind you literally can't run in, and the swim countdown is this Friday. I sweated, moved, felt like poison was moving and shaking all over my body, in a sickening sort of good way. I tried to make it a cleansing experience, and will go back for more. I even let the small group know that I was bald before I took off my hat so as not to freak anyone out, and then I actually took off my hat. I had been dreading sweating through yoga in a cap, and I didn't. I have to say the several people were totally nonplussed.
Now, unusually, my arms are like jello. The whole thing was extra tiring, for obvious reasons I guess, but what the hell, I don't really have anything else I have to do. I am getting used to my rhythm and if I just decide not to mind watching Mad Men episodes and venturing out one time for exercise, then there is really nothing to mind.
My friend invited me to Portland Thursday to shop a Title Nine sale. I am jumping at the chance, and realized that the fact that I never go anywhere has been my own bizarre choice. I feel like I am about to have a vacation from the walls of my house, and the retail therapy won't hurt.
Wow, this is not a bitch session. Is that a first?