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Still Not Here

A woman (who obviously does some yoga) with he...
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Today I am going to go out and DO something other than sit here and work on my book project so that tomorrow I will have something to blog about.

not me———->

Because this is getting ridiculous.  I pull up this page every day and stare at it and wonder: What the hell is happening to my life that I can’t think of one single thing to write?  Should I talk about…

How I made someone nauseous in my Yoga Workout class on Monday?

How a foot of snow fell from the sky? *yawn*

How I drank a beer after class last night?

That’s scintillating stuff, I know, but blog-worthy?

Today is the 24th, which means I only have 4 days left on this self-imposed torture project, unless I call February brutally short and give myself another week.  Which I think I will have to do.

I started off thinking this project would be my own personal instruction manual. Something like: The Mechanics of Me: Parts and Labor.

But then all I could do was write about yoga.

(Yeah, go figure, right?)

Turns out I have some truly ridiculous yoga stories to tell.  Like the day I came to on a floor at Kripalu, dressed in a full-body human being suit.

 

Author:

I’m a small town yoga teacher who says motherfucker a lot. I hate anything woo. I’m into neuroscience. And facts. I’ll lead the chanting of “om” sometimes, but it makes me feel awkward. I want to access flow states. As far as yoga helps me do that, I’m into it. Dopamine is my fave neurotransmitter. Don’t tell anyone I told you this.

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