At the beginning of my so-called staycation, I felt very productive and used the time that I thought would be temporary to my advantage. Now that the only end in sight to the boredom of option #1 is the boredom of option #2, my motivation has decreased significantly and goals achieved in a day read more like "shave legs" or "wash hair." Yesterday I accomplished half a goal when I shaved one leg. The hot water ran out before I could shave the other, and all women know shaving your legs with goosebumps only results in razor burn.
I'm trying to at least keep up on my exercise, but for some reason sitting on my lime green couch all day makes me really tired, and by the time Joey gets home from work it's all over and I've completely melted into the cushions. Some days I wonder about those people who sort of morph into their couches and how long it will take before I'm half-flesh, half-synthetic fiber.
Today I decided I would do yoga. As I mentioned earlier, I fried my ipod one hot afternoon when I tucked it into my sports bra as I vinyasad along. Joey's been kind enough to let me use his while he's at work, but that's only when either he or I remember to take it out of his gym bag that usually sits in the car. As that is the case today, I lugged the laptop out to the pool and strained to zen myself away with the faint music produced by the laptop's lackluster speakers. Then it started raining. Ash.
Ash falls pretty frequently around here, as it is the preferred method of garbage disposal (have I mentioned my theory that after seeing the third world I am convinced that nothing any green, tree-hugging American or US corporation could do would even begin to mitigate the pollution created on this continent?), but usually it's only a flake or ten and you can brush it off your shoulder. Not today. The garbage fire was in the next yard and caught by the wind and the large ash flakes that landed on my computer and yoga mat and in my hair and in my water were profuse. Disgusting. Not even taking the time to roll my mat, I scooped it up, dumped out my water and ran into my house.
Okay, inside. Can't do hot yoga, but how about a yoga DVD? Five minutes into Shiva Rea and I would punch the TV because she annoys me so much (I swear to God yoga DVDs are only for people who have never actually been to a yoga class), but I don't have to because the power has gone out. It really makes me want to scream when all I'm trying to do is say "om" and I can't because of giant ash clouds and our unreliable generator. Just another day in paradise - or really ironic lesson of yoga. Isn't the point to block out all outside distractions and just go with the flow?
Yeah, well I'm willing to bet swami yogi never tried to do yoga in Nigeria.