Day 24 What a Difference a Day Makes
Tra-la. Today I had energy to burn. Cleaned the bathroom, vacuumed, washed floors, tried out a delicious new recipe for supper, the sort of good house-wifey things I’d normally rather stab myself in the eye than do.
Maybe it’s because I did the afternoon class, instead of the morning class. Let’s do the math: between the 3:30pm class on Monday and the 9:15am class on Tuesday is 17.75 hours. Between 9:15am on Tuesday and 3:30pm Wednesday (today) is 30.25 hours. Three classes in three days, but that middle one was a killer. Deadly. Spend-the-day-in-bed-ly.
Now, as anyone will tell you, math is not my strong suit. But I think I’m on to something here. I’ll try the 9:15 tomorrow and let you know. Stay tuned!
Day 23 Question:
How long Western union money transfer does it take to increase hamstring flexibility?
Answer: More than 23 days. For me, anyway.
This up-and-down, start-and-stop stuff is driving me crazy. YesterdayI was full of energy, my practice was a breeze, I got yoga plus a ton of other stuff done. I was woman, hear me roar.
Today, I limped home, showered, then curled up on my bed in the fetal position while the anti-inflammatories took effect. And that’s it. I am crone, hear me whine.
I know I’m stronger and more flexible than I was a month ago. I know I have more endurance than I had a month ago. I know I need to stay focused on just doing the work, and not worrying about the result. But seriously, when will it stick for more than one day at a time?
Maybe this is the mental part of the challenge, staying with it despite inconsistent gains.
Hm. Short-term pain, few immediate rewards, long-term commitment required. That sounds a lot like writing. Focusing on publication, or good reviews, or making best-seller lists, or getting ever-increasing advances, is like doing yoga to look good. It’s not wrong, but it’s a by-product, not the point.
Sure, I want bigger advances for my books. I’d love to make the New York Times list one day, too. But long before that can ever happen, my job, my practice is to develop my voice, become more competent at my craft, build the strength, flexibility and consistency of my writing. Not to mention finishing the damn book.
So my mantra today: Breathe. Do the work. The rewards will come.
PS: this week I’ve written about 25 pages in my current work-in-progress. Yay!
Day 22 Death Race 2011, School-Zone Style
I planned to go to a morning yoga class today, but after the school run, all I wanted to do was get off the road. Is everyone rushing out for free McDonalds coffee?? Are they all on crack?? (Are those two things related?)
Today I witnesssed the following:
-one driver clearing his windshield of ice, with his bare hand, WHILE HE WAS DRIVING.
-two drivers making left-turns without looking at on-coming traffic, and without there being a sufficient break in on-coming traffic to do so safely, which they’d have known if they’d looked. Which is probably why they didn’t.
-numerous drivers blasting right through the school cross-walk. Nice.
-one particularly unpopular lad, so determined to turn left out of the school parking lot that he had a line-up of at least 15 cars behind him, drivers growing more vocally irate by the millisecond. Turning RIGHT at that spot is a challenge. Left is usually impossible. One car finally squealed over the median to get around him. I’ve timed it: he waited longer than it takes to turn right and go all the way around the park with the lights.
-and the deadliest of all, teenagers. The first time I almost killed one, I was sitting at the afore-mentioned intersection, waiting to turn right out of the school parking lot, craning my neck to the left to find a break in the traffic, when I saw an opening. Inching forward at about 0.5 km/hr, suddenly, out of nowhere, a skateboarder whips around me from the sidewalk on the right, slamming his hand on my hood and grinning as he passed. HOLY $#!& I was wobbly for hours.
But then it happened again. And again, plus once with a kid on a bike. It’s never the same kid twice. I don’t get it. It’s not like they’re all getting killed; we’d have heard the sirens. It’s as if they have to take turns or something. Maybe there’s a roster. “Good news, Braydon/Hunter/Carter/Dylan, you’re up for Monday’s Idiot Skateboard Kid role. Good luck! Don’t forget to sign your organ donor card.”
But I’m on to them. Now I wait for the split-second when they’re almost in front of me, then I lean on the horn and watch them soil themselves. I hope I scare the crap out of them, ’cause they sure scare the crap out of me.