i prefer petal-soft

monkey mind storytelling chatter in bathroom before yoga class:
for reasons i won’t share due to grossness, i had to change my tampon but i didn’t bring an extra  tampon so i had to use the one provided in the fancy bamboo treasure box that holds sanitary stuff on the back of the toilet and the only kind of tampon available was a non-applicator kind because i suppose eco-responsible yogis try to limit their carbon footprint by reducing excess tampon applicator trash and i gave myself a pectoral cramp trying to put the non-applicator tampon in my cooter, not because i was shoving it with force but because the angle was wonky and ouch my right pectoral is sore. i wonder if my pec cramped because i’m in my 40’s or just because i’m having one of those whacked-body-out-of-alignment days. if i were 35 i wouldn’t wonder about the age implications of awkward tampon-inserting-induced chest cramps. fuck the age thing. dude, i wayyyyy prefer petal-soft plastic tampon applicators to applicator-less tampons. i’ll think of other ways to reduce my carbon footprint when i finish bleeding.

monkey mind storytelling chatter in the studio before yoga class begins:
get the bolster. seriously, be nice to yourself and get the bolster. not because you’re gonna wuss out on any posture during class but because you need to be nice to yourself and open up your chest and try to relax the tampon-inserting pec cramp before class begins. get the bolster. go lay on it. don’t be a jackass to yourself.

monkey mind storytelling chatter during the first ten minutes of class:
awwww shit. i’m gonna be the crying girl at the back of yoga class today. dammit. i’ve barely cried this week. i haven’t cried today. i didn’t feel sad before i got here. what the fuck? awwwww shit.

monkey mind storytelling chatter every time the yoga instructor comes over to me and lays her hands on my feet or shoulders with the intention of being supportive:
(none of which i say outloud)…please please please don’t be nice to me. i’m gonna start crying if you’re nice to me. stop being nice to me. fuck. now i’m crying again. stop that, will you? i know you mean well. i know you see that i’m in the kind of pain that moves through my body every time we’re in a posture that is vulnerable and relaxed rather than strong and focused but stoppit, okay? because i’m trying not to cry. awww fuck.

yup, i was the crying girl in yoga class today. i’ve only been to yoga twice in 2015 and already i’ve been the crying girl. damn. because i was sitting in the back row alone and because i cry silently, only the instructor saw my tears, but i really hate being the crying girl in yoga class…with a pec cramp from putting in a tampon. i gave up on today after yoga class and got in bed, even though it was only 2pm. maybe i’ll get out of bed at midnight and begin again.


About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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