Your Cheatin' Heart Will Make You Weak

Today, I tripped into middle aged today with as much grace as a one-legged rodeo clown.  I dragged Mr. Cutthroat to Bikram Yoga this morning at 7 AM.  And, then slept half of the day.  I am up now and watching Cheaters.  So much for wanting to be a productive person today!  I believe in my heart of hearts that I could wake up, do Bikram, knit a sweater, host a dinner party, and if I turned on even 15 minutes of Cheaters, the whole day would reverse any productivity for the whole day, possibly week.  Such a wonderfully, vile show.  When I spin, I have a piece of my day spun right in.  Every time I handle the skein after it is done, it brings back memories of what I was doing that day.  After spinning with Cheaters in the background, handling my yarn several days later still makes me feel trashy.  Trashy television is one part of my youth that I cannot seem to leave behind.  I will be 80 years old chanting terrible phrases at the actors on the screen.  Oh, and you can bet the next dye lot will have a Cheaters-centric name.  Maybe one named after the incomparable "Joey Grecko" himself?

Higher and Higher, It's Burning Through to My Soul

As if carding, washing, dyeing, and spinning fleece from the Sheep and Wool Festival wasn't enough, I started Bikram Yoga today.  Bikram is the type where the room is very hot and very humid.  The goal on the first visit is to just stay in the room for the entire 90 minutes.  I am proud to say that I made it all the way through.  To be clear, there were parts that I had to skip by just laying there on the towel covered mat.  When I marched in the class, I started towards the back and the deeper I got into the room, the hotter my body, the harder it was to breathe.  At least my inner monologue had enough sense to say, "turn your ass around and park near the door, you fool!"  My mat was near the door next to the window, where I can see the receptionist who was certain to shame me if I dared leave the room.  She already threatened me as much when I signed in.  "Don't leave the room!"  The heat was rough.  My elbows, eyelids, and knees were sweating.  And, the room smelled like Skate-A-Round.  But, the receptionist through the thick glass kept me motivated to stay by purely sitting there.  I was half afraid that she would force me to walk home wearing a neon sign that said, "BIKRAM FAILURE!"  At one point I looked over and this receptionist SS officer was eating watermelon.  I instantly hated her from this moment on.  Tomorrow, I am going to give it another go and I need to figure out how I can tastefully wear less clothes.