Twisted.

I love/love/hate yoga. I love the moments of bliss and self-realization I receive from practicing, and I love/hate the moments of blinding clarity I encounter regarding my never-ending desire to control all the things outside of my control. I know this is a good thing. I have a place to safely reflect on the fact that I’m comparing and competing with nearly every single person in the room. It’s atrocious. And awesomely sobering. 

I was in a class once where we

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More.

The thing about being a writer is that, if you’re going to do it, like DO it, you have to actually write more than once every three months. In fact, you have to write every single goddamned day. Y’know… like, if you’re going to be a professional about it. If it’s going to be your job, as in, what you DO.

And herein lies my problem. Because, as it is currently, I have never even managed once-a-week status in my entire blogging career, so…

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