life, sensory saturdays, thoughts, yours truly

sensory saturdays

sensory saturdays

It’s been a while since I’ve done any  s u n   s a l u t a t i o n s  (or Tracy Anderson, for that matter); it’s just been forget the snooze and

go, go, GO!

6 a.m. wakeup call. then it’s 3 a.m.

        finally, permission to sleep.

( r e p e a t . )

It’s been a while since I’ve had a moment to just   b   r   e   a   t   h   e   .

Stretch out my legs, arch into downward dog, and stretch again on the floor. In nothing but a men’s flannel shirt – a favorite of mine – against cool, wooden planks.

It’s been a while since I’ve indulged. Did nothing. Do nothing. Be nothing, but a flannel-cloaked girl on the floor of her bedroom, vegging out on blueberry bread and banana and a good movie. Think nothing. Just being. No thinking or writing or dancing until my feet bleed.

The plan’s to wake up in rustled white sheets. Greet the sun at noon – namaste – with a gentle forward bend, and fall right back into bed.

After all, it’s been a while.

( a girl can dream though; i’ll sleep when i’m dead. )

.   .   .


sensory saturdays, thoughts, yours truly

sensory saturdays

I squint in the dark, hands groping for Phillip Lim’s.

can’t find them – how? they’re huge – so I make a grab for the mug of hot lemon water. Don’t need perfect eyesight to drink.

I squint again. It’s sour, a good kinda sour. My eyes adjust (as do my taste buds.)

One hour later I’m in  d o w n w a r d  dog,


chaturanga  —  h   o   l   d  —  cobra.

(jump!) hands under my feet


roll up — not slow enough because I’m impatient, hands to heart

n a m a s t e .

No incense sticks, no chanting yogi, just me, myself and my beating heart. Love your body love your body love your body, it whispers. om namah shivaya. I bow to Shiva, I bow to my inner heart, in silence, in sweat, in Lycra, alone

… until Tracy Anderson fills the room. I vowed to make her and yoga my religion again. In abs we trust. (pulse for three, two, one… r e l e a s e .)

.   .   .


inspiration, life, sensory saturdays, style, tearsheets

sensory saturdays

Right now: back to black. Crocodile-embossed leathers. Jewel tones. Nothing but bronzer and mascara (anything more is too much to ask of a girl who wakes up at 6 a.m. and comes home at 1 a.m., but a Jersey girl loves her bronzer). Ankle boots have resurrected from depths of the shoe wall and  are promptly being placed back on my feet. I’m wearing my favorites from last year until their dying days – they’re hanging by threads at the moment – and once the shoe gods call, I have a brand new pair awaiting to be worn.  Platform, lace-up, buckles, crocodile-embossed black leather. Shoe fetishism at its finest (and matches my current go-to handbag, coincidentally).

Isn’t that what fall fashion is usually about, anyway? Save bohemia or 90’s GUESS girl throwbacks for Ibiza in the summertime; we want leather, we want fitted, we want edge, now. Rock femme are the words. Big leather bag, leather jacket, leather boots. We’re bracing ourselves for the fall with leather layers and pumpkin spice lattes – how else would we justify starting our days cold, grey and wet?

It’s all just a uniform, really.

Still, I’m holding on to reminders of summer. Ripe avocados sliced up and drizzled in olive oil, finished with a few twists of black pepper. Scrambled eggs are prepared in the same manner – and voila, a breakfast meal that injects a bit of summer back into those cold, dark mornings. Because aside from the pretty, bright green, all I have are my pumpkin lattes,

and I’ve gone back to black.

.   .   .


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