Calming & Centering Via Inner Rage

Isn't exercising supposed to make one more calm and more . . . uh . . . centered? Because on Monday I started exercising hardcore, and I don't think it's made me any nicer. In fact, I think I'm more of a jerk.

This one yoga teacher of mine likes to begin each class with a "lesson" that she revisits thematically during the class. I suspect that she just barely remembers this theme until the very end of the class, when the friggin' lesson has to come back full circle, to sort of reinforce it, and it's ALWAYS about evolution (which she pronounces with a long e). So at the beginning of a recent class she asked us to close our eyes and "envision" the "evolution" of a caterpillar from its larval stage through its chrysalis stage and on to its butterfly stage, because, she said, this was such an amazing metaphor for yoga! And I realized that I was probably cracking my molars with all the jaw-clenching I was doing. And you'll NEVER GUESS what we were told at the end of the class!!! Then, in her special 4th-of-July-class, she asked us to "envision" the "evolution" of a firecracker and to dwell on the moment of "ignition," and I had the same molar-thingie. By the end of the class we were fizzling out, but no worries! The cycle of igniting, exploding, and fizzling continues throughout the celebration of life! Later, when when we were were supposed to be "present" in the "moment" with all of its "juicyness," I snorted. I am a spiritless creep.

And it's not just yoga. No form of exercise seems to mellow me out. A friend of mine mentioned that he's started running, and I have this (I hope healthy) competitive side, so I started running in the mornings, up and down the Panhandle. I'd hoped the exercise would calm me down enough to face the Department of Motor Vehicles - since I've moved into this house, I've been parking my car more than a mile away, just to avoid the process of getting my new parking sticker. I hate going to the DMV so very very very much, and I like to think that my hate of it is special, that it runs much deeper than most peoples'. But I thought that after a morning run through the Panhandle, I'd be calm and centered and all right with the DMV.

Not so. I arrived early so I could be one of the first in line and manage not to feel the rage that boils up inside of me when I have to wait in line for something I'm required to get but that I do not really want. And then finally, when the DMV opened up, I was moved to the back of the line for not standing in correct line-formation against the brick wall of the building. Beginning with those at the front of the line, a woman with a clipboard asked each of us a series of questions and then handed out the appropriate forms. When my turn finally came up, I was told that I'd been in the wrong line entirely, and I had to walk to the other side of the building and go to the end of another line. It went on and on like that for three hours, and by that point I was pinching my forehead and crying. I got on the phone and listened to the recording on the DMV hold line as it reassured me over and over again that my call was so very important to it. Like a crazy person, I spoke back to the recording using the noun, adjective, and verb forms of the word "fuck" in a variety of combinations.

This Image Is Not Related In Any Way To My Post, But It's From A Book I Liked When I Was A Kid. My, There Is A Lot Of Nudity In This Illustration!

Anyhoo, my thighs hurt, and today I skipped running & simply did a little yoga. While we were in some kind of twist, this new teacher told us to enjoy the "corset-y feeling of domination," which, okay, at least she has some style. I'll try running again tomorrow, though this time, maybe I'll wait until after work. I'm looking forward to Saturday (why? It's a secret!). On Sunday, I'm attending my first improv class. Alles gut.