Anger Management

Yoga and I have been taking a trial separation.  I got annoyed with the girl who had taken over the time slot I frequented.  I gave her the benefit of the doubt, but she was taking over for another girl that I really liked (who was going to freaking India to study yoga) and in all honestly she was doomed to fail, the shoes were too big to fill.  I tried a couple other time slots but eventually I threw my hands up in frustration and decided yoga and I needed some space.

So when my friend asked me to come with her to yoga last night I thought, oh hell why not.  First off, I was in a very bad mood.  Going to the gym and running your ass off or pushing yourself with resistance training is great when you have aggression to work out.  Yoga, for me, is best done when in a positive, focused mood.  Yoga brings up weird emotions.  For example, moves focused on stretching and opening up the hips often bring out feelings of anger in people.  If we store stress in our neck and shoulders, we store anger in our hips.  When I go to yoga in a bad mood, I find it gets amplified.  If it was socially appropriate to throw a tantrum as a 26 year old woman in the middle of a yoga class, I would.

So I’m sulking and half-assing the poses I don’t feel like doing, being a complete baby and I think to myself, “Why are you doing this?”  “Why aren’t you pushing yourself to get through this class?”  “Why are you being a lazy jerk?”  I’m being a pawn to my moods, as usual.  At some point I think I should do fitness again, give it more effort.  But even in that yoga class I didn’t want to push myself, I didn’t care.  I’ve been having a not caring week.  I can’t even decide what topic to do next month because I’m not excited about any of them.  So I thought, make some new topics, what will contribute to your happiness?  I stared at my notebook for a long time, scribbled a few crap ideas down to open up the inspiration flow and nada.  No great ideas.  Nothing.  Once again I felt compelled to whip my notebook across the apartment, throw Flash’s ridiculous pile of a month’s worth of laundry off the balcony and kick that stupid four year old that lives in the apartment next door (who always stands outside our door making barking sounds while she waits for the elevator causing my dog to freak out) in her face.

My name is Kirby, and I have an anger management problem.