Better half

I hate to admit it (which he is all too aware of), but sometimes my husband is right.

Tonight we found ourselves once again talking on the phone; I think we spend more time talking on the phone nowadays than talking in real life, but that's another blog entry altogether. He's on his way home from Malmö, and I'm at home, still in a funk. For what feels like the umpteenth day in a row, I can start crying at the drop of a hat; my threshold for stress has completely shut down.

At least 10 times during our conversation he tells me to do some yoga, maybe meditate. "Try doing what you wanted to do last night." "Try to meditate so you can breathe easily again." "Do some yoga now."

This coming from a man whose own yoga merits can be summed up in two words - Child's pose...

But he's right; dammit he's right. Time to hit the mat.

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