The day started with a few yoga poses. I'm not really one for sweating so I just stretch, whenever and wherever I can. It reminded me of my mom- and no I hadn't spoken to her since I was seventeen when I moved out. "If you walk out that door, you're never allowed here again!" Yes, a typical ultimatum plus a rash teenage decision ended in utter stupidity, but isn't that the story of everyone's life?
My mom had a cookie-cutter secretary job when she raised me, but twice a week, in the evening, she was a yoga instructor. Whenever I stretch in the morning, I can hear her voice telling me, "Arms up. Good, now breathe deep. And arms back down. Great job Yonnie." So, everyday I was doing the same positions, awkwardly wedged somewhere between nostalgia and morning grogginess.
I often thought about how my life would have been different, if I hadn't walked out of that door, if I hadn't ended up in this town, and if I hadn't gotten this random clerk job at Alfonso's Pet Shop. I suppose I'm in the early stages of a crisis.
But enough about my past. I'm all about the future, get it? Except I can't tell you the next time it's going to rain. It's hot as a mother... and I make pitcher after pitcher of iced tea, but I am no cooler. I'm persistent that away, always pushing something down a dead end road. That road is paved with failure and loss and my feet get burned on the path to nowhere while my family turns their back from me in an attempt at resignation and as I walk the road alone I ...Sorry, I get dramatic like that sometimes. I consider myself to be the world's most pessimistic psychic.
I've gotta stretch some more, gotta loosen up. From my apartment on the third floor, I can see the faces of frustrated, sweaty people, but I just stretch and breathe in deep. I smell something murky, but I'm deep in meditation now. Inhale. Exhale. My karma clock's alarm goes off, a whining wind chime, and I get up to walk to Alfonso's. I don't like his advances on me, but I can tolerate it. Besides, I'm not alone. There's a new employee here. Russian, grumpy, and broke. I like 'em broke... Me gusta.
