Just one of those mornings

I've begun practicing yoga again. Patiently and slowly and with all manner of understanding that because I am a crazy person, I will get far too into it without some kind of balance. I love meditating. I think that it is a wonderful way to spend an entire day. I also love cobra and leg stretches and would likely spend far too much time doing those as well.

Fortunately, I do have a sort of low threshold for absolute irresponsibility. Sort of Low. Sort of Absolute.

One of the issues that I struggle with, as many creative types have found themselves doing for the last, well, since the beginning of creative types, is the focusing thing. Difficulties with or pertaining to focus have been prevalent enough that I probably could construct my autobiography around them. No jokes about staying focused long enough to finish it, please. Balance is a good thing, and in a constant state of flux, so I ought not be too surprised that in my quest for balance, I'm almost always in a constant state of flux.

Fun times with self-aware poets, eh?

(the cat, who has successfully stalked my lap, is now sliding off of it. i am not helping or hindering her. i am just giggling. very softly.)

This morning found me a bit cranky, owing to temporary physical blerg. I am not fond of being cranky when there is no one to expel it at. Home is not a place for that kind of thing. I like it here, why muck it up?

Mind you, it did take about 20 minutes to get around the complaining to the place where activity became possible and rational thought entered the conversation and I could get up and get on with everything. This is the part that I forget about every time I get around to changing my life on purpose: the part where I'm a stubborn cranky-pants. Every Single Time, I forget. It's kind of ridiculous - like Midwestern drivers who are always So Surprised when it snows. Assholes.

That's really not the point, I was just writing there because I find that just saying a thing doesn't actually tell anyone what I want them to hear. Particularly me. And since I do reference these bloggy bits on a not even remotely regular basis, I oughta leave something that is communicative and whole for FutureMe to read and nod and remember the entirety of the morning and why it matters that in the middle of gentle morning twists, I looked out of the window onto a snow-covered late winter day and thought of Agra and a foggy morning street behind the entry wall.

It makes no real sense. Which is normally not something I notice or acknowledge as important. Sense is best left to people who do not spend a whole lot of time in my company, including me. Paradox does not startle or confound; I am not undone by different perspectives. And yet. Between the almost constant deja vu, and now this - I will be happy in the library for a few hours today - nested in the spaces left by the covers of books I will never have the time to read.