I’m into yoga now which is very funny if you know me, and you probably do if you’re reading my blog. *waves to all 5 of my friends* I started doing yoga about 6 months ago for a couple of reasons, all having to do with my body and not my mind because the idea of mindfulness makes me hostile for some reason. I began my yoga practice (I’m a yogi now so I have to call it a practice) because I was developing a dowager hump from looking at my phone. Constant Twitter scrolling was turning me into a babushka except not a cute one with a scarf and water pail. I’m way too tall to pull off that look. Luckily, Elon Musk bought Twitter and made it unpleasant and boring so it was easy to cut back. That crabby little fella saved my spine. I feel like I owe him my gratitude. Gratitude is something I talk about a lot now that I’m a yogi. It’s a rule.

I also started doing yoga because my Tempurpedic mattress gave me tennis elbow. When sleeping causes sports injuries, it’s time to evaluate your health and fitness routine. Keeping my muscles as atrophied as possible has been a good strategy for years since my clothes always fit.  I secretly loved those “sitting is more dangerous than smoking” articles because it made me feel daring and brave. I laugh in the face of death with my reckless sitting. The muscle wasting approach kept me thin but standing upright gave me backpain so I figured I better do yoga.

One of the things I love about yoga is savasana which is where you do nothing. Savasana means “corpse pose” so I’m really good at it. Some people are good at head stands, I’m good at playing dead. I think you’re supposed to make your mind blank or meditate but that would just make me fall asleep and snore. I made my instructor uncomfortable when I asked if I could bring my c-pap to class because she couldn’t tell if I was kidding. Another instructor was confused when I said I didn’t like putting my third eye where my feet go. The last thing I need is a zit on my third eye. The people who get nervous when Mercury is in retrograde think I’m weird but they accept me and I accept them because that’s yoga’s whole deal.

Yesterday, an instructor talked about mantras which made me think of the Dalai Lama so my entire yoga practice was: breathe, suck my tongue, breathe, suck my tongue. That’s probably not what she meant but it gave me church giggles so it was fun. Also, can religious men stop being so fucking gross all the time? I mean, saying “suck my tongue” to a child is mild compared to your typical Youth Pastor behavior but…ick, you old freak. Perverted Lamas do not belong on my mat.

Learning about all the different types of yoga has been interesting. I honestly never knew there was so much variety. I prefer Gentle Yoga because I’m the youngest person in there plus there’s minimal standing. Lying down yoga is the best yoga. The hot classes are oddly addictive and I love them but they’re also disgusting. Profusely sweating and breathing in a closed room with 30 strangers for an hour is invigorating. I walk out of the hot room feeling like we’re all heroes who have rescued puppies from a mineshaft together. For like 10 whole minutes afterwards, I’m a warrior god back from battle instead of a middle-aged woman with chronic shoulder pain. I’m starting to understand why some yoga people think they can vanquish infectious diseases without vaccines or modern medicine. They are wrong, of course, but I see why they might feel that way because hot yoga recreates the sensation of beating back death with your muscles and your mind every time you do it. Also, not dying immediately after 30 people exhale all over the place can lull you into a false sense of being invulnerable to germs.

I want to keep this sermon short so the last thing I’ll say as I’m proselytizing about yoga is that it really does help with mental calmness even if that’s not why I started it. I’m not sure if it’s the reminders to breathe or that tight hamstrings were making me cranky but I’m borderline mellow now. I haven’t thought about bludgeoning my neighbor to death with his gas blower in months. And my rage against Republican politicians is more of an intellectual hatred instead of a stress response. Like a sociopath. Or Mitch McConnell. I bet Mitch does yoga.

And Elon Musk, my hysterical dude, you absolutely must take up yoga before the men with butterfly nets are forced to shoot you with ketamine darts. Trust me, Twitter is not worth a nervous breakdown or back humps.

Anyway, Namaste, my friends and Elon.

Love, Amy