we drink tv smoke porn sniff sex inhale adverts that makes us lazier and weaker but what's inside you? Ona Check out other articles from innocent bastards
I have been doing yoga on and off for about 5 years. In September, I joined an actual studio, Sattva School of Yoga, instead of going to the yoga classes at the gym. Which I quit. Who needs a gym membership when your own condominium has a free gym! The yoga studio I joined is warm and friendly and insanely popular. Good, I like to fall on my face in front of an audience. From September to mid-November, I was going a lot. Mid-November hits and I couldn’t go anymore due to some health reasons. But now that that’s all cleared up, I’m back.
You know what’s not “like riding a bike”? Yoga. For the most part anyways. Before the monthish hiatus, I was bending and doing yoga-y things with somewhat ease. My first class back to yoga at the beginning of January was a fucking nightmare. The practice changes every month so there’s variety, which is awesome. But apparently they decided January should be Hey You’re Fat From Christmas, Let’s Get Goddamn Real Up In Here month. Which, fair.
My ability to flow through the freaking 5 sun salutations we do at the beginning of class, was lost. I can still get through them, but instead of looking like a graceful swan, I am now a drunk flamingo with spaghetti for arms.
I praise the lord every time the instructor ends this portion of the class. After this, we do the basic warrior poses, which are my favourite poses. Hello legs, feel the goddamn BURN. Warrior poses are never taken out of the monthly practices. They are constant because they murder and sculpt your legs into things of beauty.
We move on through the class and I turn into a sweaty monster. I have all the leg strength in the world and can hold poses for a long ass time, but if my spaghetti bullshit arms are involved at all when holding a pose, it’s basically a joke.
Which brings us to the new move that was inserted into January’s class.
yeah I’ll just file this under Nope.
To be fair, a lot of people couldn’t do it. Which, thank god. I didn’t want to be the only one sitting on my mat, laughing like an idiot. I mean, I was able to put my arms down on the mat like that. But….no. That’s it. That’s all I attempted round one.
The second class, my arms are all backwards and I managed to put my forehead on the ground in front of me. Lifting the legs is a major LOL. Maybe by the end of this month, I will be able to…..um…..watch everyone else…succeed. Yeah. That’ll do.
I know there’s always one pose I cannot do in this class. They always put in an advanced pose, which is cool because GOALS. But instead of just putting the one advanced pose in this month, they decided two would be ideal as hell.
Half Lotus Son of a Bitch Crow.
why is your foot…up there.
I like crow pose. It’s fun and tough. But THIS. This is also…fun and tough. The first class, I sucked a bag of dicks. I was able to get Lotus all up in my grill, bending over was fine, but that’s as far as girlfriend got.
The second class, I tried to put my knee on my forearm and lean forward but Spaghetti Arm was like “WAT R U DOING” and I promptly fell to the ground. Life is great and not at all embarrassing.
Here’s the best part about this yoga studio, my yoga studio: Ain’t nobody there to laugh at you falling on your face. The class is filled with beginners, intermediates, and advanced homies. And everyone at some point has probably fallen on their faces in front of people. And no one cares. Everyone is too focused on their own shit to probably even notice you falling over.
Even though I shit on myself for not being able to do these poses yet, I’ve only done them twice. For 5 years, I could not do a headstand. Well the time has come, everyone. I can do one now. I can finally stand on my fucking head without the support of a wall.
I WILL MAKE CROW AND PEACOCK AND ALL THE OTHER BIRDS MY BITCH.
To the people out there who think yoga is bullshit and not a real work out, I would love to see you take a class and not break out into a serious sweat and feel the burn the next day. It’s such a good way to learn about your body and see what needs work. It’s not about getting to the final stage of an epic pose (even though that is an awesome feeling), it’s what you learned on the way to it. Which muscles you need to use, discovering new muscles you didn’t know you had, how to balance perfectly, how to breathe properly. It’s something I will never give up ~~aNd NeItHeR sHoUlD yOu~~
GO TRY IT NOW.
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Show me your beautiful mind
Open this book for me
and let me in.
I can’t help but read.
I want to get the feel
of the pages torn
written all over
and soaked in moments.
Let me hear
all the rumor of mistakes
joys and little victories
silences of deep thought
the all alone You.
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I wasn’t originally planning a second photography session today. However, tomorrow’s classes got cancelled so procrastination was inevitable. I didn’t think that there was going to be much of a sunset tonight, but I am definitely glad I was wrong.
Here is the work of my procrastination:
Today was warm enough for some of the snow on the road to melt, which left wonderful puddles for beautiful photos.
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- 3/4pound campanelle or penne
- 4red or orange bell peppers, seeded and cut into quarters
- 3/4cup pitted kalamata olives
- 1/2cup coarsely chopped roasted almonds
- 1/4cup olive oil
- 1tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
- kosher salt and black pepper
- Cook the pasta according to the package directions. Reserve ¼ cup of the cooking water; drain the pasta and return it to the pot.
- Meanwhile, heat broiler. Place the peppers on a baking sheet skin-side up and broil until blackened, 8 to 10 minutes.
- Scrape the charred skin from the peppers with a paring knife and wipe clean with paper towels.. Cut the flesh into 1-inch pieces.
- Add the peppers, olives, almonds, oil, thyme, 2 tablespoons of the reserved cooking water, ½ teaspoon salt, and ¼ teaspoon black pepper to the pasta and toss to combine (add more cooking water as needed to loosen the sauce).
Credit: Real Simple
I’ve thought about blogging this several times and every time I have stopped myself as I hate to be negative, or moaning, and the last thing I want is pity but some days I just want to scream and shout ‘I fu@king hate my pain’
We live in a world of social media and everything is played out on it like we live in some sort of eternal soap. I don’t watch the soaps as they are all negative anyway. I understand the irony of this comment as this is about to go on social media so I guess I am leaving myself open for a load of trolling but c’est la vie.
I hate seeing comments like woe is me I’m single, or my days ruined it’s raining, or even worse the people who say to me you are so lucky being at home in this weather. Lucky is scooping the jackpot on the lottery, lucky would have been to drive an alternative way home that night in 2002 when some @rsehole changed my life so I am now unrecognisable to the person I once was. Lucky is not living in constant pain, and when I say constant pain I mean real chronic constant pain not the people who say to me oh I know how you feel I spent Saturday in the Garden and at the end of the day I was stiff so had a warm bath.
From the minute I get up everything I do causes pain and aggravates my condition. My nerve endings are so on fire that even the touch of clothing is like a thousand needles prickling me all over. I have a rail to use to get me out of bed and it’s a short stroll using my walking sticks to the bathroom each step feeling like I’m walking on daggers. I use my toilet frame to be able to go to the toilet even a piss, yes standing is impossible, my legs would go numb my body would spasm and I’d be pissing all over the bathroom! The shower takes forever sitting on a stool and olnly being able to reach certain areas on my body, and needing help to wash some of the most intimate areas (degrading at any age but at 37 makes me feel so useless). Getting dressed has to be done sitting down, again with help. I love the summer as flip flops mean my wife doesn’t have to put socks on each day. Then its morning meds just the 10 a mixture of opiates, pregabalin, diazepam, paracetemol and an anti inflammatory.
The day drags on and on and on, each hour made up of sitting in a number of different positions, laying, walking, doing some stretches and generally doing anything to try and limit the pain that is coursing through every fibre. A cough is like a hammer to my spine, a sneeze like shotgun, even a yawn hurts. Sitting and pooing takes an age, trying to use my sphincter muscles feels like a boa constrictor squeezing my spine and making my arms and legs go numb.
I long for even the postman or woman to knock on my door (they know to wait a little while as it takes time to get to the door) so I have someone even briefly to talk to. My meds make it impossible for me to drive with the new laws that came in to effect in June, I’m not capable of looking after my daughter as I can fall asleep at any point so she goes to my parents and I sit home alone. If I’m lucky a friend or family member will pop over (but most are working themselves so can’t very often) to see me or to put together my scooter or wheelchair and take the “cripple” out for a walk and some fresh air. Where we have to plan where to go because so many places remain inaccessible to disabled people. Any trip out entails more medication and results in increased pain having a fun day trip relieves the boredom but by the end of it I am so spaced out and had so many tablets that I don’t know my own name let alone what day of the week it is, thank goodness for digital cameras and photos to be able to look back at the day out.
I constantly spill my drinks as holding them is agony, and typing this takes days to keep going back and typing a few more words each day. I constantly forget what I’m meant to do each day, we’ve nearly run out of insurance on both the house and car as I forget to call and pay or arrange.
I rely on others cooking my tea and have to eat as quickly as possible as sitting on a dining chair is yet another every day task that kills. Others load my washing machine, dishwasher and generally care for me or unpaid. It’s no wonder I feel like a burden to sooo many people.
My specialists have all told me to give up working (I am a mentor for 16-19 year olds and I love it), however I have now missed more days off work than I have worked in the last 13 years, and whilst my work are being supportive I think the reality is this latest deterioration has resulted in this becoming impossible. I don’t however want to be branded as a good for nothing scrounger as disabled people are all too often portrayed in the press and who time and time have money cut. Ideally if I was unable to work I would volunteer locally to help people when I can maybe being a phone befriender for age uk calling people a couple of times a week that I can do from home and not let people down.
Evening comes and it is lovely to have my wife and two kids at home, even though playing with them is painful and difficult seeing their faces, hearing their laughter and screams and having bedtime cuddles (gently of course as it hurts) gives me a bright few hours then. Then if we are lucky my wife and I watch a film from different sofas as it hurts cuddling up as we once did, and that I loved. I hope she knows I love her and despite the lack of physical contact I love her more every day. Bedtime and it’s the painful toothbrushing as I cannot stand at the sink with the slight bend everyone else takes for granted. Laying in bed is painful, I move and fidget and keep my wife awake unfairly as she works 60 hours+ each week just to keep the roof over my head. Eventually as sleep evades me I take my last lot of meds taking the daily total to over 30 tablets and I move back to the lounge to repeat my sit, shuffle, move, lay and go mad at the cr@p on TV. I long to try and control my pain again, I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t ask for some arse to cause a RTA and I certainly didn’t ask to suffer for the rest of my life. I am fed up of long periods of my pain controlling me and putting on the fake smile and yes I’m not too bad that most people hear because let’s be honest who really wants to know how painful pooing is!
The next time I am told how lucky I am to be at home I want to scream all this at them, but the reality is the reply will be, actually I miss not working, and not being able to look after my child on my own. I long to just get the pain under control so I am controlling my life again, and can control the pain as opposed to pain controlling me so that at the very least some of my tablets can be reduced and I can ride my mobility scooter taking my girl to school safely in the future and without the funny stares.
Of course this is a reflection of my worse days, when those darkest feelings are all absorbing and consuming. The pain never goes but I do have days where I feel a little happier in myself and a bit more positive but on these days don’t be fooled into thinking the pain has gone. I have finally accepted that this will never happen, now begins the long journey into sorting out life, my emotions, accepting help from others, not being embarrassed by my various mobility aids and to make the most of the precious time I have with family and friends.
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Budweiser teams up with Helen Mirren to start a movement that stands apart from the typical drunk driving PSA by calling on drivers to #GiveADamn and protect their lives and the lives of others.
I have never been one to worry about my age or complain about growing older. While my body sometimes feels the years, and my face shows the truth of my life experience, my heart and soul, young and vibrant, still view the world with fresh eyes, hopeful and forgiving. I’ve been naïve at times, hurt and pushed to cynicism, but it never lasts for very long. Angry words and harboring bad feelings cannot fool my heart, eventually I let go and give the world another try. At least . . . that’s what I think I do.
Even now as I am closer to sixty than fifty, it’s not age that concerns me, nope. I think more often about the years that remain in my life . . . a number I cannot predict or control. More than ever, I want the years, the days, and every moment to count, to be big, important, and worthwhile. I don’t mean to say that every experience must be beautifully crafted and perfectly planned, complete with inspirational soundtrack, not at all. Instead, I find beauty and perfection in the most unlikely places, in the moments of my mostly ordinary life.
Getting to this place has not been easy. Therapy, yoga, meditation, soul searching and writing, lots and lots of writing, have all played a part in my journey. But the most important ingredient has been the people, my teachers, the supportive and gifted women in my life, and my family. And then there is my grandson, Luca, who helps me see the world through his eyes, brand new and beautiful.
Last week Luca visited and wanted to play Cops and Robbers. I chuckled to myself as this seemed so old- fashioned. I’m not sure at all where he learned the term. He definitely knows all of the critical elements for a successful game, a cop, a robber, a jail and an excellent imagination. Running through the house he squeals as I chase him, no easy task to run and laugh simultaneously. Anticipating capture, he stops in his tracks, catches his breath, puts his hands behind his back and boldly states; put the handcuffs on me Nonna, just pretend. I lock the fake cuffs, making a clicking sound. I walk him toward the mirrored wardrobe, the space we have designated as the jail, and put him inside. In my best tough guy voice I gruffly warn, Stay inside, I’m watching you, and I walk away. Within seconds, he emerges, running as fast as his little legs will carry him, and I chase closely behind. He screams and laughs; his happiness so pure.
We repeat this scenario several times before I add a new element. I manage to quickly hide before Luca escapes the wardrobe. As he flees to freedom I jump into his path, and scare the daylights out of him. Each time I leap from a new hiding place, he shrieks and between the giggling says, let’s do it again Nonna.The next time, we have a long chase. I let him believe I cannot catch him. He runs and runs and I grab at his little shoulders but never quite grab him. He screeches and laughs, and then he slows just enough to look over his shoulder and say, I love you Nonna. I respond, and I love you my Boo.
Still running, out of breath and laughing, we stop short of smacking right into the mirrored wardrobe. I find myself face to face with my reflection, and I am completely surprised by what I see. It’s me . . . but I look younger, happier, and lighter. I actually look more closely and wonder if it’s the lighting in the room. And I then I think . . . so that’s what happiness looks like, that is love’s light shining from the inside out. Looking into the mirror, Luca smiles exposing his jagged little overbite and asks, why are you smiling Nonna? I smile some more, and say because I’m happy.
So . . . these days I do my best to not worry about my remaining years on the planet. It’s a huge waste of time. Instead, I happily exchange my worry for a good game of Cops and Robbers, time with my family and my best girlfriends, and walks on the beach.
Seems my best lessons, come from Luca. Completely unaware of the years that lay ahead, and certainly not concerned about the time that has passed, he only knows to enjoy every minute of each day.
I love that.
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