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. )
. . .