Not Writing About Sam Today

This morning in yoga class (while I was doing my best not to get my tyrant on when a gaggle of ladies showed up 10 minutes late, squeezed their asses into my personal space and took my spot by the wall. Hey, I show up on time so I can get a spot, try having a little consideration and doing the same, OK? And you're not doing yourself any favors with that straw-yellow dye job either, yeah, I wanted to be Lita Ford too, in 1988), where was I? Oh yeah, this morning in yoga while I was exuding the sunshine from my heart (Sunshine? Florida? No, I'm not talking about my intense depression over Sam dumping me for gainful employment, no, this is not what I'm talking about today.) Ok, this morning, in yoga class while I was exuding the sunshine from my heart, I was thinking (and trying not to cringe everytime the teacher said something cheesy, like "reach for that Tiffany diamond, ladies." God damn it, I'm trying to shine my light from within, let's not get all materialist here, how about "reach for those testicles and . . ." No, that's not going to work either, how about we just stay silent and focus, just this once.)

This morning, in yoga class, while I was exuding the sunshine from my heart, I was thinking how fortunate I am to be friends with poets who so willingly take the time to read and comment on my poems and manuscript. Thank you Brent, swan is way better than albatross. Thank you Allyson, all I ever wanted was for you to like me. No rush.

Namaste!