Sometimes it seems like there’s a kind of competition to see who has the shittiest life. Does my adoption, bulimia and husband’s suicide beat your job loss, chronic fatigue syndrome and divorce? Who knows … who’s judging these things?
On my left wrist, scratched into my skin is a red heart with angels wings. It reminds me of my birthday three years ago when Shelley and I sat under the needle at The Illustrated Man and got our tattoos. It was the last birthday I spent with my husband.
Sexy isn’t about your age, the colour of your hair, the size of your body, the wrinkles on your face. Age isn’t a shameful secret kept undisclosed to ensure others desire you, love you or respect you.
In my imagination I am lying in bed with Duckfish, asleep, in my old flat around the corner from here. It is 3am. An unusual sound wakes me. I see a familiar figure standing at the end of the bed. He is holding a gun.
Sometimes when you achieve your goals — the man, the holiday, the house and the body — you discover that it’s not as satisfying as you hoped. So you move on the next thing … praying this time you’ll get what you need.
Sometimes I feel like I’m living in an alternate reality. Sailing down a stream that split into two some time ago. Is there another me in a parallel universe who made a different decision?
Gratitude – for each breath I take, for each dawn and each full moon, for each kiss and for each idea that catches me by surprise – that’s my religion and my purpose.
If you consider yoga to be an exercise geared toward physical health you may want to reconsider. Yoga can help you stay in the moment and start to release negative thinking.