Defective psyche for sale. Serious inquiries only.

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So in yoga the other night Yoga Instructor Jennifer was running late, a reassuring sign that the universe is functioning like normal. In the fifteen months I’ve been studying yoga she has not once managed to begin on time.

(By the way, I tried a new pose, which looks sorta like this. Can’t say I fully achieved the pose, but I was getting there, I was getting there. Arm balances are not my forte.)

So anyway, we students were chatting to pass the time, and the topic turned to how yoga had influenced us. Several people mentioned how their flexibility had increased, to which I fully agreed. I was flexible to start with, but now I’m really REALLY bendy.

Then someone mentioned how her peace of mind and spiritual outlook had improved, which was greeted with a chorus of agreeing voices. Me, I shut my mouth and felt glum.

What IS it, I wonder? Why am I not getting the mental happiness whatsits? Am I spiritually obtuse? Is my psyche stupid? Am I doing something wrong, or am I just naturally defective?

These days I am in a non-stop rotten mood, though I suppose we can blame that on the you-know-what. I’m stressed. I’m cranky. I’m depressed, anxious, grumpy, and short-tempered. Everything I say comes out wrong.

Assuming I finish the first draft of the you-know-what on time, there are six weeks left. One of those weeks will be spent here in my apartment. It’s not really my idea of a fun vacation, per se, but just think of the money I’ll save on gas!

So: five regular work-weeks and one so-called “vacation” week to finish off the item-that-shall-not-be-named. It will have seven chapters comprising 600 full annotations, and then each full annotation will be followed by at least one mini-annotation. Plus there’s a ton of meta-text to write, that is, the chapter intros, the chapter conclusions, section intros, an appendix or two, and the book intro.

I’ve written maybe… a quarter? … Let’s call it a quarter— I’ve written a quarter of the meta-text, and X number of annotations, meaning that I have 600-minus-X annotations yet to write. (Wild horses will not make me confess as to the actual number of annotations written thus far.) And a lot of meta-text. And an index, but thank goddess I don’t have to write that till the rest of the book is set. Kinda hard to prepare an index if you don’t know page numbers.

To finish the thingy-we’re-not-talking-about on time, I’ll pretty much need to spend the next six weeks writing. Nonstop. I’m still going to try to get to yoga, and I’ll go to work since the fascists in HR refuse to pay me if I don’t.

And don’t worry: I’ll still post a crappy, uninspired piece here each week.

Plus I suppose I’ll continue to sleep occasionally, and to perform basic functions of hygiene (my fascist coworkers complain if I don’t). But… Casual socializing? Outta the picture, though I never did that much to begin with. Goofing off? Reading? Idle daydreaming? Mindless internet browsing? Gone– which is why I’m in such a lousy mood.

But there’s a silver lining to this cloud: Guess who won’t be doing one lick of housecleaning in the next six weeks?


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