Tuesday, August 16, 2016
I made it to the beach again, refusing to yoga on my living-room floor for the bajillionth time.
It was nothing special ... or it was absolutely special, depending on how you look at it (in an "everything's a miracle" kind of way). In any case, it was markedly different than my last beach-yoga, some days previous, in a negative sense. I had to drag myself out there this time, for one; and then, the yoga just failed at achieving the magic of my last visit, as mysteriously as the magic was there previously. Eh. Oh well. I shrug at this; my yoga was yoga, and I'm okay with it.
And, yes, that trash bin kept me company all the while. I named it Dean (just now, writing this, I bestowed it this name). Thanks for the companionship, Dean, if you can hear me.