Just Call Me Pigpen

February 2nd, 2003

Am wearing my bug pajamas - they are yellow and have grasshoppers, moths, beetles and other such creepy crawlies on them. Mom gave them to me before I went to college, along with a matching sheet and pillow case set. I like wearing them, because when I feel like being invisble, I can slip under my sheets and I’m instantly camoflauged. And I’m like *now you see me* *now you don’t*

I’m wearing the bugs cause I need comfort. Today has been a long, long day - and the next couple don’t look too hot either.

So I went to the gym today, thinking yoga could be the order of the day - my 90 minutes of peace amongst the storm. On my way to the gym I tromped through a huge pile of mud. There was so much mud in my jams that it seriously affected my balance. I felt like I had polio or something; felt like one leg was several inches taller than the other, which maybe it really was.

But then … I was like “oh god, now my shoes are dirty and they won’t let me into the studio with its polished, pale, wooden floors.” But then I remembered for yoga you always take off your shoes anyway. No harm, no foul.

But then … yoga class is full, and I’m not allowed entrance. Who goes to yoga on Sunday nights anyway? Freaks. Anywho, there I am in my clodhoppers, feeling like my name is Hansel and Gretel, as I leave a telling trail of brown stuff throughout the gym.

But then … the lady who says yoga is full, says she’ll give me a pass to reebok core instead. And then I’m giddy, cause I only paid for the economy fitness pass - the cheapy pass, the one which restricts you from taking cool classes like the ‘core. Suddenly, a wave of pure bliss spreads over me, and the idea of a *free* class temporarily shuts down all normal brain function.

And I forget about the mountains of mud stuck to my tootsies.

And then I learned the ‘core is a jumping around type of class.

And then, before I knew it, my board was encrusted with, and surrounded by, chunky pieces of dirt.

And I am *so* embarrased, cause it’s real obvious against the damn polished wood.

Then I am real embarrased when we do “step drills”, where the whole class feverently runs around in a path which - of course - is right infront of my dirtiness. Yes, the whole class is front and center to the trainwreck that is my personal core-sphere. And they all have clean sneaks.

Sometimes I feel like i’m that guy from roman mythology who is cursed to roll the stone up the mountain for all of eternity. He of course, never makes it anywhere.

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