This morning’s practice was rough to the nth degree. Out of nowhere—I’m on my mat doing my thing, feeling good and then I became so enraged during my Surya Bs that it was totally overwhelming. I could barely finish practice. I could barely breathe. My body became tighter and tighter as my practice went on and I ended up having to stop early. I don’t even know how I had the energy to be that pissed off at 6 in the morning! It seems like a bad dream now. I spent all of Savasana crying. WTF? My car ride to work after practice was like being trapped in a mobile insane asylum. Sometimes, the inside of my own head is the LAST place I want to be. Sometimes, I really hate yoga.
I seriously considered just quitting my practice this morning. “Ashtanga’s not for me,” I thought (more like cursed than thought), “it’s for skinny people who are spiritual and flexible, not for injured, bitter, stiff, old, angry quasi-agnostics who want to punch someone in the fucking face right now.” This is actually what went through my head during downward dog, I think in between breaths 3 and 5. Fun times. For the entire way to work, I felt like I was caught in the throes of this hellish stew of rebellion and fuck-it-all-ness. I was like, that’s it, I am quitting: this is just making everything worse, I am accomplishing nothing, I am embarrassing myself, there is no point to this alleged practice, the spiritual stuff is bullshit/I am not a Hindu/Fuck Hanuman, Screw God, I am way too fat to do this shit, etc etc etc. I finally calmed down after a healthy dose of aural Valium (AKA Fiona Apple), but man—what a scary three hour chunk of time that was. Jesus, Mary and Jehoshaphat. I have no idea what was going on with that, but I am scared shitless to get on the mat tomorrow. My landlord is upstairs drilling in our floor for no apparent reason and I need to go to bed, dammit. 5 am is right around the corner. Ugh.