Yoga, Meditation, Insomnia, and Ooh look! Bunny!
Note: this was not originally intendedto be a blog post, but a book filled with inapproprite (to some) humor I’ve been working on. So, there you have it.
He’s drinking again. At the new job. 2 weeks in. Jesus…
Not that he’s Jesus, per say, just an idiot. Or perhaps some sort of self-loathing nihilist.
I guess we all manage stress in our own fucked-up ways. Some people meditate, or do yoga. Me personally, I could never understand the whole yoga-thing. I mean, ouch. Who in their right mind would put themselves into physically improbable positions, simply to achieve some sort of Zen-like grace? With my luck, a.k.a. my naturally ability to injure myself by simply walking and breathing at the same time, I’d end up stuck in some pretzel pose. Now, how do you explain that to the paramedics? Of course, I guess they’ve probably seen a bunch of weird shit, but I truly have no desire to be food for the happy hour fodder of medical types.
“Oh hey, George! Guess what I saw today at work? Some drunk chick got herself all twisted up in this bizarre mating ritualistic dance, and we had to take her in to get her body back in working order?!?”
Um…no. So, I guess no yoga for me.
I’ve even tried meditation. Which is not to say that I didn’t gain any benefit from it. I suppose it works for some people. But for me, I get about three minutes (at most) into some trance-like state, and then start thinking about random shit. You know, what to cook for dinner; chicken or fish? Rice or potatoes? Pasta? Ooh! And I could totally redecorate my living room for a mere $50! Score!
And then I realize that I’m supposed to be meditating…
So, I try to concentrate again, but the same thing just keeps happening. It never fails. I firmly believe that this is why I’m an insomniac. It’s not that I don’t sleep at all; it’s just that it takes me like 2-3 hours to actually fall asleep, because I’m laying there thinking of all this retarded, mundane bullshit for hours. In my crazy brain’s defense though, I tend to come up with some really profound shit at roughly 2 a.m. Of course, I usually remember nothing by the time I wake up.
And this is why I smoke pot.
Was that my point?
Somehow, I think I just did it again. I had a point when I started typing, but now my mind’s narrative has headed down a winding, bumpy path, and I’ve forgotten again.
Ooh, look! Bunny!