My Post-Vacation, Renewed Yogic Path…And My Seven Supports

Hillbilly Yoga

Hillbilly Yoga

I’m now on day ten of my post-vacation renewed yogic path, and more importantly, approximately day ten without doctor booze in my support system.  And I say “approximately day ten” because if I were to tell you that it was 1 week, 2 days and 23 hours since I last had a drink, you’d think I have a problem.  The first couple of days were rough but it’s leveling off now.  Last Friday was the worst and here’s why….

My neighbor had asked if she could borrow our truck to take some donations to her school’s annual yard sale.  Of course I agreed. But, I hadn’t put two and truck together to realize that this meant she would load everything up Thursday night and then take the truckload of secondhand goods to school AFTER I went to yoga on Friday morning. 

So Thursday night, as I went to sleep under a bright full moon, I had already psyched myself up for a hillbilly drive to yoga with a truck full of recycled furniture.  I set the alarm for five minutes earlier to cover the slow speeds I might need to maintain as I traveled down DeKalb Avenue with a cargo full of Craig’s List booty.  As it turns out, five minutes just didn’t cover it.

I got up, dressed and drank coffee as always but then as I was feeding the kitties, I discovered that ants had forged a dotted path to the cat food place mat and were setting up their picnic brunch.  I quickly emptied their mimosas and ushered the party out the back door, trying not to smash them.  So far so good.  

Then, as I tried to sneak out of the house, the kitties forgot about their salmon and sweet pea flavored slop and decided the screened-in porch was more appealing.  I had to coax them back in with hairball prevention treats, that don’t actually work by the way, but at this point, I was still on track to make it to yoga on time. 

When I started up the truck the radio was not tuned to my normal quiet NPR Market Place but rather to an eardrum blasting version of Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Ozzy, but not at 5:50 AM as I’m on my way to peaceful and serene yoga.  And then to top it off, I didn’t have to worry about driving slowly because I hit every single red light, all 7 of them, in the 3 miles between home and Moreland Avenue. 

When I finally arrived at the yoga studio I realized I had to figure out where to park with all of the hand-me-downs looming in the rearview mirror.  I found a spot that I could back into easily so that I could leave just as effortlessly.  In that instant, I realized that this ideal truck stop was another yogi’s regular parking space.  I guess just like there’s an unspoken rule about where you place your mat in class, there’s also the spot you place your car in the parking lot.  I decided I’d have to say my “I’m sorrys” later. 

I then walked all the way up the steps to the studio only to realize I’d accidentally brought in my coffee cup instead of my yoga mat.  So, back out to the hillbilly wagon to swap out deliciously smelling hot coffee for a cold, clammy yoga mat.

L is for Large

L is for Large

When I finally got myself together in the yoga studio lobby, I looked down at my leg and dang if there wasn’t one of those “L” stickers on my new, just washed, yoga pants.  I tried to pull it off but it’s like the wash made it stick all the more.  I had to go into the bathroom and pick it off, bit by bit.

Once yoga was over, the truck and I made it back home safely.  I got myself cleaned up and rode my bicycle up to MARTA to make my way to work.  Yes, you guessed it, on the way to the train, I caught my pants in the greasy bike chain.  I ultimately settled into the one remaining seat on the full train car and, as the southerners say, I “mashed” the iPhone ear buds into my ears and then “mashed” the play button.  As I kept turning up the music so I could hear it, I realized everyone was staring at me.  Apparently the ear bud cord wasn’t fully pushed into the iPhone and all of my fellow riders could hear Madonna’s Beautiful Stranger playing loudly and clearly.  It could have been worse – shuffle mode on my iPhone could have popped up with Tangerine Dream’s Love on a Real Train. Thank Goddess for small miracles, Rebecca De Mornay and Tom Cruise.

After that rough morning, all before 9:00 am, I also say thank Goddess for my support staff including, but not limited to:

  1. Dr. Sandy the muscle stimulator,
  2. Dr. Wanda the neuromuscular relaxer and the staff at Midtown West Medical,
  3. Dr. Pam the hair psychiatrist (and the one who keeps me from looking like Frida Kahlo),
  4. Dr. Todd and Dr. Stephanie the adjustment pros and yoga shrinks,
  5. Dr. Rusty the bonsai magician,
  6. Dr. Mom and Dr. Dad for treating me as their favorite oldest daughter, and of course
  7. Doc. B the mushroom and meditation queen.

Whether they know it or not, they are all helping me in their own special ways.  You other supporters know who you are and I promise to acknowledge you in future posts (unless you pay me not to).  Cheers to support systems.

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