Where Are You Going? Why Wouldn't You Want to Hear about My Dreams?

Things Never to Do Again:

Last night.

Last night was a weird combination of events. It started with yoga. I took myself to a more advanced class, in a total act of masochism. Naturally, the toughest teacher in the city was there to teach that night. The room smelled like B.O. before the class even started, there were so many people crammed in. Which made me feel good, because there’s anonymity in numbers. And I know yoga is supposed to be about your own personal journey and blah blah blah but of course I am totally comparing myself to my neighbor, and I know I’m not alone, given the number of times I’ve accidentally met my neighbor’s eyes in the mirror.

So class began, and I was terrified as my neighbors started contorting themselves. Not to be outdone (I was totally outdone) I began contorting myself, too. I don’t know if it was the delicious pomegranate acai yogurt flowing through my veins, or what, but I was happily surprised to find I was keeping up, more or less. (Mostly less.) I have never sweated so much in my life. I am surprised I didn’t look like dried fruit when I was done, I couldn’t understand how there was any liquid left in me. But I hung in there, and never once had to drop into Child’s Pose, which was a first for me.

We did lots of chest and heart-opening poses, and towards the end of class I noticed that some of the sweat on my cheeks and around my eyes was suddenly burning. So I wiped it away and it felt strangely satisfying to my eyeballs. That’s when I realized I was crying. But hadn’t realized it. Now THAT is a strange sensation.

So I got myself together, threatening I’d give myself something to really cry about. Like the fact that I am turning into SUCH A HIPPIE, good grief.

Then I got home and the DVR was freaking out again, so I called The Funasaurus to interrupt his workout to have him walk me through the fine art of tricking a piece of electronic equipment into letting you just watch T.V. And I sat there, happily watching bits of So You Think You Can Dance, until The Funasaurus got home. And then we proceeded to lay on the couches and whine about what to do for dinner.

Eventually, we decided to order out from a Greek place that makes fantastic gyro sandwiches. The delivery service said it’d be about an hour. It was actually an hour and a half. We had dinner at 10:30 last night. When we got our food, we dove in, and it was so good. I remember thinking at the time, “I need to announce on my blog that food tastes so much better late at night!” and that “We should do this more often!”

This morning I am amending that decision to “No, we will never do that again. Ever.” Because I had FUCKED UP dreams all night long. There was all sorts of weirdness going on, from deformed dolphins to washing fish with my favorite sweatshirt to bringing home live crabs to cook. There was lots of deranged marine life, is what I’m saying. And at one point I was pretty sure I was being suffocated to death, and had a panick attack in my dream because something was squashing me but I couldn’t figure out what, and so I woke up just enough to figure out it was The Funasaurus’ arm (he does have a nice strong forearm which is nice for lusting over and hanging on to in scary movies, but when it is carelessly draped across your midsection in a semi-conscious attempt at cuddling, it is… heavy.) So I threw off his arm violently, surprising the poor sleeping Funasaurus who had, up until that moment, thought he was being sweet and cuddly.

Me and my mutant dolphins’ll show him!

So anyway. This morning has been weird. I’m having trouble waking up completely, and somewhere in here I gotta pack, because I leave for Miami at o’butt-crack thirty tomorrow morning. And we’re headed to a family function this evening. Who has a family function on a weeknight, I ask you?