Feeling: POCKMARKED, PERSPIRY, PALE – BUT WITH PLENTY OF PANTS
So the last two reportings have been a touch heavy; with such in mind (and another similar in the drafting folder) I thought we’d go for some laconic, light hearted rigmaroles to get a bit of balance.
1. I was rifling through my rickles of day wear, when I suddenly realised that since I arrived here, I have brought 13 pairs of pants. 13! Even for me that’s a bit excessive. Granted they are all those fisherman pant style, meaning you wear them once and the crotch has a considerably ripped crevice, but I feel I may have overdone it on that front.
2. The last few days there has been this homeless man hanging about down the street from the school. Every time any one walks by, he calls out and beseeches you with a beg. This morning I passed him and decided that on my return, I would give him some sustenance.
So I went to the store and got him three choccy bars and a bag of chips – yes I know, probably would’ve been far better off with some bread or some such but I decided to take him treats. As I came near he started his wee spiel, his eyes a little distrusting then hopeful the closer I got.
I handed over the little bag to him, feeling like a virtuous soul (terrible motivation I know; the drive should not be the fruits or act itself apparently). He took it, put it aside, held out his hand and enquired:
Slippery weasel. (Though the word that actually went through my mind was far worse). (It started with C). I almost took the package away and said I’d give it to someone else who would appreciate it. (I actually declared I would, with which he clutched it to his chest. This good-girl going has its slip ups, all right?).
(I saw him later munching on the Mars).
3. After swearing I wouldn’t go back to the laundry place because they ripped my pants (one of my favourites of the 13) I went back to the laundry place because two of tops were beyond the saving of a hand wash. My Indian Justin Bieber pal was there, sassy as can be. He’s grown on me. Initially I thought he was purely a little shit, but now I’ve deduced he’s a little shit with some spark.
I’m going back tomorrow to get my two tops, towel, shorts and another pair of pants.
4. It made me laugh; today whilst out booking in for a wax (I may or may not share the story with you once it has occurred, depending on the psyche scarring of having one here), I clocked eyes on an advert on the beautician’s wall that talked of removing tan.
I actually guaffawed aloud. I mean, here I am hanging out for some Holiday Skin to hue up my pale as paper pins, while Indian girls are desperate to diminish their darkness.
Oh that green grass, am I right?
5. Beavs and I have a full day and three quarters after the course before I bust off to Brussels, so today were brainstorming activities to make the most of it. Top of the list we decided that all we knead is love, so have booked in for full body deep tissue massages on Wednesday at 12pm.
I’m going to get on that plane with muscles so manipulated and manhandled I shall slip straight into slumber.
6. Talking of sleep; last night I got a total of an hour-and-a-half. No embellishment. Last I checked the time it ’twas 3.53, when my alarm warbled out for me to arise it was 5.31. So unideal and so shit for me to run on; I’ve been in a half-here dope-daze all day long. (And also somewhat snappy). (Ok, significantly snappy). (Luckily The Pedaller was still awake and up for a 3am FaceTime). Come 8.30pm, my lights are out tonight.
7. I was inspecting my appendages and realised I suddenly have some serious sprinklings of freckles – like, many more! On my upper arms and lower limbs and back of knees and shoulder girdle. I mean, fairly pifling flecks but an onslaught all the same.
8. One thing I’ve become not just accustomed, but downright in and up with is sweat. Sweet, sickening sweat. Honestly, you’re five minutes into a class and a tear of the stuff drips down your forehead; sometimes I’m not sure if it’s the heat or me crying (sometimes the warm ups have gotten rather army drill).
And it’s not just our own, oh no. Danish Marie and myself partner up for all the twosome activities, and in all the stretching and correcting her sweat is mine as much as hers. When Christina took her class, she realigned me in cow face pose (one I still can’t quite see how it resembles a cow’s cranium, but no matter) and the poor girl pressed her hand right on my outpouring armpit.
But pearls of perspiration are now as much a part of the daily (am, pm and evening) look as fisherman’s pants and freckles.
We graduate tomorrow. It’s fucking insane. I swear this has been the quickest month of my life, the four weeks absolutely airbourning by. Have I got what I came for? Yes, in the surface sense of the aim. But there’s so much more to tackle come August 20 when I’m back here for the flow on (literally in this case – it’s 300 hours of vinyasa).
Oh, that inner introspection. Lots of love, but lots of loathing along the way.