My life has been idiotically incapacitating insanity as of late. And fo shame, fo shame, my practice has dwindled. Why does this have to be an inversely proportional relationship?!
Soon, I'll be doing the yoga walk of shame. You slink in to class, feeling shameful that you've been missing for so long.
But then something magical happens. You practice, you walk out that door. And your slink has become sway. It morphs into the yoga walk of bliss.
YOU know what I'm talking about. You stumble out into the sun. Clothes and hair mussed. Dried sweat on your skin. Brain scrambled in the best way. Passers-by look at you quizzically and think, "What in hells happened to her? Are those last night's clothes? Woooo, walk of shaaaaame." But that's where they're wrong. It's yoga bliss.
Afterglow, fo sho. How the f*ck did you stay away so long?!
Your ass and your head are higher somehow. Your swagger is BACK.
Sunday, I have a date with yoga and the girl I used to be. It's about to get sweaty and so very, very DIRTY. Rawwwrrrrrrr!!!!