Yoga Sundays

My love of Sundays is well documented in this blog.  Search "Sunday" and you'll get some good reading, mostly about how I love to lay around on Sundays, grading and watching football, cooking, and chilling out as I prepare mentally for the school week ahead. (You'll also get one about how much I hate accounting and is maybe the most "first world problems" blog entry I've ever written, though that's not a guarantee...)

Now that I have a new job that doesn't involve frantically grading stacks of essays, a job that doesn't fill me with a sense of impeding dread beginning around 2pm, my Sunday love has a new focus. Of course, it's yoga.

My Sundays now begin and end with yoga.  I teach one class at 8:30am, then go to breakfast with the Beh Freh and her husband.  A trip to Trader Joe's later, I'm either back home or off to yoga class #2.  A few weeks ago I was offered the opportunity to take on a 3rd class, a 5:30pm "prime time" (even though it's a weekend) class.  I went back and forth before taking it; I didn't know if I could handle 3 classes in one day, especially on a Sunday.

One of the things I'm learning as I transition away from teaching high school English is how much of my weekend was spent working even if I was "relaxing."  A teacher's job is done exactly one day a year: the last day of school.  Other than that, even if the papers are graded, there is planning to be done.  Emails to answer.  Curriculum to be written.  Plenty to fill 25 hours a day.  I didn't realize until I didn't have the guilt anymore how much of my mental energy went to making myself feel bad that I wasn't working harder...that I even had a stack to grade, because I should have already graded it.  What a mess.

So, now I spend my Sundays not feeling guilty.  Instead, I'm so grateful to be able to, in some small way, help prepare people for their week ahead.   So that they can manage their own stuff, whatever that may be.  I still work as many hours teaching yoga on Sundays as I used to when I was grading papers.  But, rather that feel like I'm not working hard enough, I'm able to breathe and move.

And that, friends, catapults Sundays into a whole new, beautiful, realm of awesome.

Saturdays

Sundays have been my favorite day of the week for a long time, as evidenced here and here (yep, that's 2005, people!), here, and, of course, here, where I pontificate on my longstanding love of Sunday.

Sundays, move over; Saturday is in the house.  Saturday is totally my new favorite day.  I still love Sundays; Sundays are awesome days full of teaching yoga, breakfast with good friends, and food prep afternoons....but Saturdays?  *sigh* Saturdays are my new boyfriend.

Saturday morning I'm up early to enjoy the full duration of the day.  Spin classes and yoga take up the morning and the early afternoon.  Come 2pm, I'm home planted in the Great Red Chair of Sleep watching the Food Network.  Gatsby and I venture out mid-afternoon for a walk and he finds his Saturday joy sniffing and snorting and running around.  Other than that, I don't leave the house. 

Maybe I should...I probably sound kind of anti-social.  But here's the thing:  Monday-Friday I interact with around 200 people directly, and am in the presence of more than 2000.  On Sundays, I directly interact with around 50 people.  Saturdays?  I can limit my direct interaction to 2 people if I choose: my spin instructor and my yoga instructor.  I need not speak to anyone else.  So, in a way, Saturday is my day to refuel.  To practice as much self-care as I can possibly manage in a 24 hour period of time.  Sometimes that self-care involves other people--friends, family--but more often than not, once I'm home from yoga it's the Kelly-n-Gatsby show for the win.  

So, while I will never lose my deep love for Sunday, I am very happy to welcome Saturday to the fold of days that make me feel very happy and very lucky.  Tonight, my self-care involves the Wild game, Sliver (don't judge me), Ben & Jerry's pumpkin cheesecake ice cream, and chex mix.  Gatsby is barking up a storm protecting our castle from some unknown, unseen threat.  Life is very, very good.

2013 Cleanse Conclusion: My Spidey Sense

Today, the last official day of the cleanse, was an absolutely fantastic day. A cleanse resets the body, so food tastes better, the body moves a little smoother, the mind thinks a little clearer...everything is just, well, easier.  Here is a list of the awesome things I did today:

1.  Slept through the plows clearing the road in front of my house and my driveway.  More importantly, Gatsby did too.

2.  Returned to spin class with one of my favorite instructors, Natalie, for the first time in two weeks.  Natalie is an animal on the spin bike, and I get my best calorie burn from her.  I told her that this was my first post-cleanse workout, and she was all "Holy shit." I said don't worry, if I fall over I'm clipped in, and winked at her. She yelled "Don't say that!"

3.  Grocery store trip #1 for grapefruit, which I was desperately craving.  Got home and didn't have time to eat desperately craved grapefruit before heading to yoga, so I enjoyed an UltraClear on the way instead.

4.  Yoga.  Felt as amazing as spin class in a completely different way.  Spent a good amount of time in handstand.  Appreciated that I didn't have a gut full of diet coke and other crap.

5.  Grocery store trip #2 for post-cleanse staples. Also to inadvertently demonstrate to the woman at the meat counter that I am something of a roast beef connoisseur.  I don't know how that happened....she asked me about the difference between two types (the best she could offer me was that one cost $3 more than the other) and I waxed poetic about flavors, herbs, and sweetness for far too long.

6.  Home to make Gatsby's day complete, make pesto for tonight, and NOT GRADE PAPERS.

A most glorious day, indeed.

Sunday Bliss

I have always loved Sundays.  See evidence of this here, here, and here.  Sundays are brilliant days.  It's the one day of the week where it's perfectly acceptable to be a social hermit, to run errands in either your Sunday Best or your curlers, or to wake up and not move from your bed until the next morning.  There's no judgment from anyone.
I teach two yoga classes on Sunday mornings, so my days of sleeping in are no more--but it's okay.  Instead I begin my day at 7am with one group of yogis, then go to breakfast with Friends A and J.  We enjoy a delicious breakfast:

Then we part ways, usually.  I go to teach my second yoga class, and they go off and do whatever creates their Sunday Bliss.

Today our Sunday Bliss was combined into a bloody mary/mimosa afternoon of total joy.  We snacked, drank, and sat on their patio and solved all the world's problems.  An engineer, a PhD, and a teacher all sitting around gabbing--now THERE's some problem-solving action.

Now, all the windows are open, Breaking Bad is on the DVR, the smell of other more ambitious people's grilling is wafting through my house, and I'm contemplating which book to pick up.  Gatsby is chilling on the fireplace marble dreaming his doggy dreams.

Bliss.

Lazy Sunday

All I want to do today is lay around.  All I've done for the last hour since I've been home from yoga is lay around.  I am very comfortable, and I'd like to not move until tomorrow morning when it's time to go to work.

Unfortunately, that's not how life is going to go for me today.

My current status:
House: disaster
Grading: hopelessly behind

It's nice outside.  I want to be out there.  But, by the time I fix my current status, it will no longer be nice out.  In fact, by the time I get caught up on all my grading, the snow could well be flying again.

Oh well.  Fortunately Sundays are often lazy days for me, so I can afford to work quite a bit today and give up just ONE Sunday.  But, if anyone wants to take some of this grading off my hands, I'd be much obliged :-)

Mental Health Day

I'm taking one. Tomorrow.  I spent the whole day feeling guilty about the potential of doing so, but when I was gathering my things to go to spin class tonight and Gatsby flung himself at me with an abandon generally reserved for women on the widow's walk, I decided that working from home tomorrow will be just fine.

The guilt thing is weird with me. I used to take days off all the time.  Far more than I should have.  And I think it was an indication that I wasn't happy in my job or, really, in life.  But, in the last 3 years or so (coinciding, coincidentally, with my discovery of yoga), I've found that I don't take many days away from work.  I hate being away from my colleagues and my students.  But, I'm an English teacher.  From time to time, we English teacher types become choked with essays. This is one of those times.  So, tomorrow Gatsby and I will grade papers, hold online conferences with students, and be together.  He will be happy.  And next Monday I'll be ready to hit the rat race again.

Sunday is like breathing

Sunday morning I sleep in and snuggle with Gatsby.  He totally gets Sunday. Sunday is the day when the alarm goes off early, but no one moves for at least an hour.  Sunday is the day where I'm still home in the daylight.  Gatsby loves Sunday mornings.  

This morning was enhanced by a delicious pumpkin protein muffin from my new girl-crush, CleanEating Chelsey.  Then, it was further enhanced by a kick ass yoga class (yes, I taught; yes, it was kick ass if I do say so myself!).  There's something about the energy of that Sunday morning class--I love it.  Today there were 36 yogis in the house, ranging in age from teenage to retired and everywhere in between.  Body styles of all types, athletic ability of all levels.  Sunday morning yoga is the great equalizer.  

The afternoon is the bottom of the exhale. Sometimes I nap, sometimes I grade, sometimes I prep my food for the week.  Sometimes I do all of that.  Gatsby lays on his blanket and chews on  bone, basking in the amazingness that is Sunday.
Sunday nights are the inhale.  The laundry is done and put away, meals are prepped for the week (mostly), and I head to my favorite spin class.  When I get home, it's the final countdown, the big breath in, to get me ready and energized for Monday morning and the rat race ahead.  

 

Mmmmm...Sundays....

Sunday is just an awesome day. Isn't it? And the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend is, perhaps, the best Sunday of all (well, second to the first Sunday of summer vacation, that is).

Today I began my day by screaming "NO!!!"--like that was literally the first word out of my mouth, and it was, literally, a scream. See, I woke up at 7:34am. My first thought was that it was Saturday morning and I was 4 minutes late to my yoga class which is a 20 minute drive from my house. Then my brain said "No, girl, it's Sunday!" And I went back to sleep :-) Taught my 10:30 class (on time, thank you), then went to Minneapolis to sub a C1. There were 11 fabulous students in the class I subbed, and since it's not a studio I usually teach at, they were all new to me. 'Twas lovely.

Tonight I went to a surprise party for one of my mentors, Otto. She's retiring this year, so alumni from speech and theater came to celebrate her. I saw former students going all the way back to my first year of teaching, and it was really inspiring to hear how much Otto impacted them. Should give me nice energy to get through these last two weeks of school.

Cleaning up the Hermitage (and the longest story about tampons I've ever told)

I'm having company today. I think. It's still somewhat up-in-the-air, as these things often are. But, last night and today I've been cleaning my house. It occurred to me while I was scrubbing my toilet on my hands and knees (don't all profound thoughts happen around this time?) that the last time anyone was in my house except for my parents was back in August at the Social Reincarnation Soiree. That was a bit over five months ago.

The thought first came to mind last night when I was reorganizing the bathroom off of my bedroom. I just got a nifty cabinet from my parents because they're redoing their bathroom, so I was filling it with standard bathroom fare. I put a container of tampons on one of the shelves and then paused. Should I put them there? Just out in the open for anyone to look at? Then I thought, "who will see them?" I tried to remember the last time anyone but me was in my bathroom. Then I thought about who, since I moved in, had ever been in that bathroom. And I decided to keep them there because anyone who makes it that far into my 'inner sanctum' knows about tampons and probably knows me well enough to not be bothered. At least I hope so.

I kind of wonder why I'm so protective of my space. It isn't that I don't have friends, or that I'm not sociable. I just always end up going over to other people's places or out to restaurants/events. I never invite anyone over, and of course no one is ever "hey, let's go to your place!" Maybe it should be another new year's resolution to open up my house a little bit to the people I'm close to. I have no idea why I'm so afraid to have people over. And not even "people"--just "person." Anyone who doesn't walk on four legs. Very odd. I am a very odd girl.

But, back to cleaning. Because today someone is coming into the hermitage. I think.

Why I don't live at the P.O. (with all due respect to Eudora Welty)

This morning I got on a roll with wrapping presents that needed to be mailed and cards that needed to be sent out. I knew the post office would be a zoo, but I was feeling ho-ho-ho-y and merry merry, so I decided 'what the hell' and I brought my boxes and cards and a book to read in line to the post office.

I would like to dedicate "Why I Don't Live at the P.O." (which isn't really anything besides that one sentence...I think I get the point across) to the following people:

*To the three people who decided their time was more valuable than mine and budged in front of me in the "line to wait for a parking spot." I'm not sure how they knew, in advance of opening doors and reverse lights, which cars were going to be leaving, but they did, and zoomed around me (completely ignoring me and several other cars in line) and stole my spot not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES. And let me tell you--kindergartner behavior begets kindergartner behavior. I didn't key any cars or anything, but I shot some real nasty looks and told one of them "really nice. Thank you." Because I pulled up alongside the non-parking part of the drive so I could address the last budger. Hey, if they're going to be assholes, so will I.

*To the man who stood in line behind me, nay, ON me, and breathed ON ME. Dude, personal space has definitely lost its value in this great country of ours, but do you really need to expel your air onto me? Do you? And while we're at it, how about if you maybe stop bellowing at your wife and making yourself look like a total asshole. The woman is trying to mail something to either your son or your grandson who is serving overseas in the military. There's no need to swear at her and call her stupid. You're stupid, and you demonstrated that in front of about fifty people at the post office. Yeah, that's why we all turned to stare at you.

*To the aforementioned woman. Listen, Lady, I can tell that you have a lot to bear in your life. I can appreciate that, because a husband who treats you like that in public has to be an Even Greater Asshole in private. So you do have my sympathy. However, that doesn't give you the right to wander around the post office and break into lines whenever you feel like it to request whatever you might need when the post office employees are trying to help other customers in an efficient and Christmas-y manner. I understand you not wanting to wait in line with your wedded asshole, but I got things to do today.

*To the two women standing near the "forms" table. Isn't it fun when you run into people you know randomly in town? I think it's awesome. Here's what's not awesome: the two of you talking at dance-club-volume on a quiet Saturday morning. Have you both stayed so attached to your cell phones and ipods that you've begun to lose your hearing? Because, really, I don't care about your conversation. I don't care about what your plans are, or how you ran in to so-and-so and how funny it is to run into people you know in, uh, your TOWN. And, just so you know, the P.O. is not a social gathering place. It's not a coffee shop, or a bar, or even a street corner. It isn't a place for you to get caught up on all the latest news. It's a place for you to mail written communcation and move along. Or, maybe you want to start a new trend of standing in the middle of the room like teenagers do in a high school hallway and shoot the shit for three hours. Nifty idea. Do it at a P.O. other than mine.

*To Fabulous Asian Postal Employee. I don't remember your name, but you help me often at the post office. You've mailed my submissions for literary journals, you mailed my graduate school application, and now you mailed two very important gifts for me. You apologized on the behalf of The Aforementioned Woman, and smiled and said Merry Christmas. You gave me the opportunity to be friendly and shake off all of the other asshole people I'd encountered so far in your business. I smiled at you and asked how you were doing, we talked about presents, and we exchanged "merry Christmas" and "Have a good day". You're awesome, Fabulous Asian Postal Employee.

*To Tim. I like looking at you when I'm at the P.O. because you're cute. I don't know why you took the day off, but you really should have asked me first. You're forgiven this time, but don't do it again.

I'm sure my brilliant "Why I Don't Live at the P.O." will be a bestseller. After all, I'm not the only one, right?

Apparently November is a vortex...

I'm not intentionally avoiding the blog, I swear. I had no idea a whole week had gone by. And before that, another week, and before that yet another. I blame my overwhelming desire to hibernate, statistics, a lack of yoga (leading to a total lack of clarity), and too damn much grading because it's the end of the trimester.

Today I spend most of the day sitting in the Great Red Chair of Sleep. I played mob wars, read Howards End (which I really feel should have an apostrophe and yet it does not), napped, looked at my book shelves and shook my head, ate popcorn, took the dog for a walk, and played more mob wars.

See why I'm not writing? I'm the most boring person alive right now.

"Darling I don't know why I go to extremes"

Last weekend I was busy literally every minute. I think I slept for about twelve hours over the three nights. I couldn't believe how much activity I packed into a Friday-Sunday timeframe. I wanted more than anything to have a few hours to myself, yet I couldn't tear myself away from any of the splendid things I did. Saw the play, went to a party, shopped for tailgating, tailgated, watched the Packers, and came home so collapsed I couldn't even go to the Amazing Poetess Jude Nutter's poetry reading at the Loft on Sunday night. Unprecedented.

This weekend: nothing. Zero. No plans. No yoga, because I'm not allowed to go for two weeks. (Well, a week from this past Monday...so really I can go back on the 24th, so it's only 11 days...which sort of feels like forever right now, but I guess I'll maybe do okay, I hope.) Seems I've chaturanga-ed my way into a shoulder injury. No parties. No games. No obligations. No readings, dates, meetings, or responsibilities of any kind. Hmmm.

I'm a little nervous for this weekend. There was a time when I would cancel plans to be able to spend a full weekend by myself. But now I'm so spoiled with my new friends and non-stop activity that, well, I've gotten used to being sociable. After all, the last three weekends I've spent less time in St. Paul than I have in my own home.

The weekend should prove interesting. I have a big stats test on Tuesday, so I can study for that. And maybe watch some Netflix movies I've had since...ahem...July.

Uhh...HI!

Apparently the results of last week's election so moved me that I became mute for a whole week. It's okay...not too much happened anyway.

EXCEPT

--> A fabulous performance by my former theater sunshines in the fall play

--> A kick ass party at Molly's estate

--> The Packers-Vikings game which was the second best football game I've ever been to (second only to sitting at Lambeau)

--> Getting back into something of a writing schedule for the first time in almost a year

--> A few yoga classes

--> SNOW!


And some other stuff too, but that's private ;-)

Reading, yoga, and getting out of my own head

I accomplished all of the reading I set for myself on my Friday "off" and, in addition, read the amazing Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher. This novel is about a boy who gets a package in the mail from girl in his school who recently committed suicide. In the package are tapes and everyone who needs to listen to the tapes is, in some way, a contributing factor to her death. It's the best young adult novel I've read since Jenny Downham's Before I Die. I couldn't put it down, and the times that I forced myself to go do other things all I did was think about the book. It's so hard to handle teen suicide without being trite or overly dramatic or preachy, but Asher handles it brilliantly. Every teen should read this book so that they know it isn't just them--lots of kids go through the events and feel the feelings that the characters do in this book. Every teacher and parent should read this book so that they know what's really going on. It is going on, everything that happens in that book is believable, and most of it is pretty tough to swallow.

And I realized something as I walked into yoga tonight...I need to be very careful when I take time off. Time off is time inside my head, and that's not always a good thing if I don't have an outlet. I really didn't leave the house this weekend or socialize with anyone, and this morning I woke up feeling pretty crappy. Sad and irritated and just sort of raw. And I didn't know why. I tried to put names to what I was feeling, but I couldn't hit on anything that would equal how miserable I was.

Then I went to yoga for the first time since Wednesday. Second time in about two weeks. When I walked into the candlelight class, the heat was blasting and the lights were off, the room illuminated by candles. I was the first one in the room so I picked a spot by the mirrors and said "I don't ever want to leave." Suddenly all of the bad feelings I'd been dealing with all day melted away. I did my practice and have been fine ever since--better, even. One of the key parts of a guided practice is to dedicate the practice to someone--someone besides yourself, who you feel like could use some strength or energy or thoughts. Tonight I broke the rules and dedicated my practice to me. I needed it.

I have to remember that my head can be a dangerous place to be sometimes. Especially when I add to my normal thoughts those of authors through their amazing words. I can become very overwhelmed and angst-ridden about fictional problems. And, sometimes a break from work can do more harm than good. At least at work I have a focus, a goal, and I'm not trapped inside my brain. Balance...I think. It's all about balance.

Things I saw at Wal-Mart

Due to recent financial duress I've sunk to not only shopping at Wal-mart, a store which I believe is nearly singlehandedly responsible for the downfall of America, but to looking only at the "price per unit" on any item I buy. It's embarrassing. So, to keep myself amused, I keep track of things that happen that could *only* happen at Wal-mart.

So, for your amusement (and mine), I present my second list of the day:
Things I saw at Wal-Mart

1. A woman in pink sweatpants and a cart filled with 25lb bags of cat food walking down the aisles yelling "Connie!"

2. Dale Gribble

3. An Asian man who, walking toward me with his cart, stopped his cart directly in my path, smiled at me, then walked away sans cart halfway down the aisle to get some dish soap

4. Really. Dale Gribble.

5. A teen in a Blink 182 t-shirt who was either jamming out to the music in her head or having some type of seizure near the Pringles

6. Another teen standing in the dairy throwing a temper tantrum for cheese. "Moooooooommmmmmmm.....CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEUUUHHHHHHHHH"

7. Dale Gribble was not smoking a cigarette. Had he been smoking a cigarette, you'd have had to pick me up off the floor for laughing.

8. Nick the Cashier who said "You look like you're having a rough day, if you don't mind my saying," after explaining why it was he was on cashier tonight instead of on sales where he was supposed to be, not one word of which I understood. But he was still adorable. And he wished me a happy Sunday, which is more than anyone else did today.

9. The "Connie" screamer. I saw her four times. Connie, for the record, did not appear, though I did see a ten year old girl running surreptitiously down the meat section. Probably Connie.

My latest and greatest pleasure in life...

is 'The Principal's Office' on TruTV, the former Court TV. The Principal's Office is a documentary-style show featuring high school students as they get called into the principal's office for various infractions, from the administrator's point of view. This is a show that every single high school employee should watch roughly six times a day.

Here's what I've learned since I began watching this show:

1. Eric Sheninger is the yummiest principal in the US.
2. Teenagers have just about the most misguided perception of reality possible
3. High schools are exactly the same everywhere you go
4. I'm kind of a pushover teacher
5. If a teenager's mouth is open, lies are probably flying out of it
6. 75% of teenagers do the right thing...90% of the time
7. Divide and conquer
8. Humor goes a long way...sadly teenagers don't have much of a sense of humor
9. To work in a school, you really, really have to care about teenagers
10. I'm really going to miss this job when I'm not doing it anymore

Why I need yoga

Let me say right off the bat that I have never bought a pint of ice cream. Ever. Not through the countless breakups, cheatings, pregnancy scares, best friend blowouts, grade angst, finals hells, general malaise, world tragedy or crazed pms-ing. Never have I ever bought a pint of ice cream with or without the express intent to consume it in one fell swoop with a spoon straight out of the container.

Tonight, after climbing the walls for an hour, I went out and bought a pint of chocolate Hagan-Daas. And I'm going to eat it tonight. Right out of the container. With a spoon until I can't spoon it anymore and then I'll take my fingers to it.

In addition to the ice cream planned consumption, I have also put the following into my body today:

1. Breakfast bar
2. Bag of Uncle Ben's brown rice, microwaved in bag
3. Nachos (chips/cheese only)
4. Buttered popcorn
5. Two, TWO cheesecake snack bars

Gee...that sounds just great, doesn't it? I start doing yoga and drop 27 lbs. I stop yoga and will, apparently, gain it back possibly today. Because the other thing I wanted to do tonight, in place of yoga, was go for a run. Thought "dude, I should go running." Until I remembered that the reason for no yoga is another good reason for no running. A girl needs her tendons in good working order for the running.

So here I sit, with Stephanie Meyer, smokes, some captain/diet, hagan-daas, and a Helena Bonham Carter movie. Really, it sounds all lovely and kind of like a perfect night. Except for no yoga. I could do it all guilt-free if I'd been able to do the yoga.

That's all I'm sayin'.

Grounded

Well, it seems I've been grounded from yoga indefinitely. A tear or over-stretching in my Achielles tendon is at fault, and though I won't be out for long I'm still irritated by it. I have to sit out today and tomorrow, but it's okay for me to do a class on Sunday night as long as I'm careful if I can stretch it without pain on Saturday night. I plan to be able to do that.

Here's the thing--I *have* to do yoga. Must. Every single day. Even when I don't go to classes (Tuesdays/Thursdays) I still practice at home. I'm going to do as much as I can tonight on my upper body/core, but a person really needs her ankles for a good solid yoga practice. Feet are foundation, don'cha know.

Other than that...all signs point to yes for a fantastic weekend.

What "colors" do to dreams

Two days ago I mentioned colors, those ugly anxious emotions that bear the names of various colors.

Let me tell you want going through "colors" do to your dreams.

I took a nap today...last night I went out with Molly and then later we met up with her two roommates Ruth and Blaine. We got back to their place and settled in at about 2:30am, then I woke up to drive home at about 5:15am. I went back to sleep, of course, but obviously a nap was in order. While napping, I had the following dream. Before you begin...it's long and detailed and a full-on nightmare. I don't know exactly what it means, but I have some ideas. Some strong ideas. But if any of you out there are good at dream interpretation, please comment and tell me what you think is up.

Shoes and snakes.

I looked out my patio door and saw a coral snake approaching the door. I then realized that both the glass and screen doors were open. I ran to the door and a bunny came through the patio door and I threw a shoe out the door to stop the snake. The snake caught it in its mouth (I felt it’s mouth brush my fingers) and it began to eat my shoe. I was mad because I knew I’d never get the shoe back. I went after the rabbit in my house—grey—and then for my camera. I went back to look at the snake, which was arched up in the air trying to swallow my shoe. I looked at a corner of my patio and saw at least two other snakes (yellow striped) coiled up against a HUGE black long snake. There were baby ducks being devoured by the yellow striped snakes. Then I *really* needed my camera. I found it, but couldn’t get it to focus. I then saw a dog, I think a basset hound, coming toward the snakes. The coral snake had finished my shoe and went after the dog. I ran outside to try to stop it, and when I got out there I saw that the dog I saw was actually laying over another dog that was badly hurt, its eyes had been eaten out by the snake. The second dog looked like my neighbor’s dog and my first instinct was to run to their patio door and knock for help, but the urge to get my camera was too strong. I thought maybe I should run around to the front of the house, grab my camera, and ten get the neighbors. I ran back into my house and went upstairs to photograph the snakes from my upstairs window.

I opened the door to my loft (my actual loft is open) and noticed something was wrong because there was a very tiny window that didn’t open. The room was very tiny and I thought “this isn’t right, this isn’t my house. The loft and the second bedroom match up and both look outside.” So I turned to go into my second bedroom. It was pink, and had my childhood bed in it along with furniture that wasn’t my childhood furniture but I recognized it as that. My mom was in there cleaning my room, and it was spotless. I opened a tiny drawer on top of my dresser (designed for jewelry and stuff) and saw places where q-tips had been, little cotton strands were there…and I turned to look in the closet and it was so neat and clean. I started to cry and said “I have to simplify my life!” As soon as I said that I opened a second closet door and the closet was full of stuff…clothes hanging weirdly and bags all over the floor. I ran back to the loft, thinking I had to be dreaming and not know I’m in a dream (I’ve *never* thought this in a dream) and the loft was normal. I went back to the second bedroom but it was still the same pink childhood bedroom.

I took my camera to photograph the snakes from the loft. But when I looked outside, there was pure carnage below. A cat was on its side throwing up what looked like baby snakes, and there were at least three dogs down on the grass that had been attacked. A little girl was walking toward the fray with a hamster and I tried to scream at her to go away because she was looking at me, but I couldn’t scream through the screen. I looked again at the cat and there was another little girl there now holding the cat and a man behind her telling her “it’s a good idea”…I assumed he was saying the cat should be put down.

Then I woke up.

Colors

Holly Golightly calls them the "mean reds". Blanche Devereaux calls them "magenta." They're not "the blues", though they're in the same family.

It's being worried without having anything specific to settle the worry on because there's just too much to worry about. It's feeling neglected and abandoned and completely sorry for yourself while yelling at yourself that you are too old, mature and independent to feel neglected and abandoned and completely sorry for yourself. It's wanting to sleep to get your head quiet, but not wanting to sleep the day away because time is always so short. It's a teeth-aching, numbing anxiety with no solution in sight because the problems are so non-existent yet so ever-present and giant because they are your mental creations--your brain gone completely wild--to the point that you need to speak in second person in order to put the words in the right order.

It's knowing that you have something to do, a lot to do, but can't do any of it. It's wanting to curl up and forget that there is a world out there, yet screaming, "Don't ignore me, world, don't you love me? Don't you care?"

The nice thing about the "colors" is that because they are so intense, they wear out easier than, well, sensibility and normalcy. They simply can't sustain forever, and thank God. And because you are old enough to know better, you also have an arsenal of techniques prepared to deal with the "colors" when they descend upon you. You clean the house. You rearrange the furniture. You watch Sex and the City until you've seen Carrie through Big and Aiden and Big and a 20-something and Big and that guy from Office Space and Big and Barishnakof and Big. You do yoga. You eat popcorn and have a drink and a smoke to take the edge off. And you wait for the "Colors" to get good and tired and fall asleep in the corner.