Time Warp

It’s been a rough week. On Monday I thought it was Tuesday, and on Thursday I thought it was Wednesday. Visiting Texas last week was like a whirlwind business trip, only with premium margaritas, fancy shampoo, snuggly cats, and a free shirt at the end. I told Mom staying at their house was better than any fancy spa, and a lot more fun (see margaritas above). 

I signed up for a “free” yoga class this week at my studio. It’s now open at a limited capacity, but the schedule is wonky. I was going to try and go at lunchtime. The studio sits between work and home, and my big idea was to hit it at lunchtime, then I finish the rest of my workday at home. What I didn’t consider was the fact I’d have to carry my mat and yoga clothes to the office in the morning and back again, in addition to my laptop, work documents, and a snack. 

I don’t mind being a little bit of a sherpa, but too many complicated logistics become barriers to entry. Add no lockers, limited spots availabie in class (no guarantees), hot days commuting back and forth under the sun, and wearing work attire to the mix and it becomes an expensive (dry cleaning bill) proposition, steeped with cumber. I tried to extrapolate a solution to this on the Monday I thought was a Tuesday, but it was a an extra busy day at the office, and I forfeited attending class. 

They charged me $30 for the “free” class I didn’t take, because they have my credit card on file. Another reason to hate corporate yoga. More big biz bullshit. I, and everyone else, have watched myriad small businesses shutter their doors forever in the aftermath of COVID, yet this corporate behemoth sat unfettered and empty on the corner, like a giant black bear curled in its cave, wrapped in the warm confidence that Spring’s bounty awaited its hunger, once the storm passed. 

Still smarting, I’m shopping around for alternatives. It’s another impending relationship destined for doom, but loyalty is no longer a consideration, the term “membership” they ascribe to what’s on offer a beguiling misnomer. In the meantime, I’m running more and using our stairwell to the 14th floor for my HIIT training. What I’m not spending on the yoga studio I am currently spending on massages to keep the wheels greased. It’s the difference between struggling to run 25 minutes or having an easy 40. I can no longer stretch myself into accordance. Someone else has to do it for me. 

I have a bunch of deliverables this weekend, starting today with this post, my self-subscribed deadline, no matter how shitty it sounds in my ear. I also get my second vaccine today which ought to make completion more interesting. Tomorrow I am signed-up for a three-hour writing workshop with Anne Lamott, one of my favourite authors. She is a walking/talking/writing chicken-soup-for-the-soul tonic. I am beyond excited, and come hell or high water, I will be tuned-in. I also have to write my first poem for my writing class. I. Do. Not. Even. Know. Where. To. Begin. (Me write a poem? That’s like the dirty horse girl walking barefoot in the barn putting on tights and a tutu for a ballet recital). Lastly, my project is due for the Section4 Product Sprint. I’m flirting with inevitable failure of doing too much at once, instead of pouring my energy into one task, but alas, I wouldn’t change it if I could. If only there was more time.

Last week I wrote a short fantasy called Bookbenders. It’s a play on the name Bookbinders, an old Philly restaurant that no longer exists in its original form. In my story, a person can go into the brick and mortar, Bookbenders, and order a novel to experience. Think literary LSD in a spa-like setting. Maybe someone wants to know what it is like to be Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, or Churchill in Five Days in London. Maybe one seeks omniscience like Gandolph in The Lord of the Rings, or the drama of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. You swallow a capsule and it takes you to a favourite novel you’ve read and you get to experience it like the character of your choice in that novel.

The question is: Which book, and which character, would you choose?

One thought on “Time Warp

  1. Your poem was written without your knowing it: I. Do. Not. Know. Where. To. Begin. Lynn

    Sent from my iPhone



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