First Downward Dog . . .

. . . this year, I think. Yowsa. Started yoga back up. Last year I had to make a choice. Chris could only go into work late once a week to watch Gideon in the morning so it was either pilates or yoga. Yoga made me feel better, but pilates generated better physical results. Naturally I chose vanity over sanity. Now I don't have to choose. I hoped pilates would make my transition back into yoga easier, but I'm not so sure. Weird muscle pulls in my right hip and calves. Will feel that tomorrow.

My new instructor's name is Olga. I was afraid that she'd suggest I go back a level because I'm so out of practice, but she didn't. I believe I'll be spending the rest of my life in Yoga 2. Motherfucking hamstrings.

Someone just sent a series of poems dedicated to me and one of those poems implied I had a mustache. Untrue. I have no mustache. The poem is a lie.

As a kid, I had a friend in summer camp named Olga (different Olga, not yoga-instructor Olga). Summer camp Olga had a little mustache.

I do not.

That's the truth.