Stuffed

I'm not stuffed on food. Yet I feel stuffed, you know, all heavy and lethargic, and once again I find myself moving in s-l-o-o-o-o-w motion. I am, however, so tired of being tired that I rolled out my mat anyway, in my crammed hotel room, after returning from work this afternoon.

But it was even earlier today that I noticed while walking through the mall for a late lunch how unappetizing everything seemed. Despite extravagant, colorful fashion-creations draping store windows as they proclaim their relentless faith in the upcoming spring, the thought of actually trying on clothes just seemed so, so out there; like I would actually find something that made me look good... At this point I don't even know where I would begin. No, as much as I love new clothes, sorry, I'm stuffed.

It was the same thing while passing by the cafes and coffee bars with their sensually tempting treats: pastries, ice cream, CAFFE LATTE; I'm like, no thanks, I'll pass. I don't feel like it; thanks anyway, I'm full. Yet at the same time I'm yearning for something. My head is filled with thoughts on time. What time is it? How am I using my time? How would I like to be using my time? Oooh, wait! That last question's easy!

Everytime I spontaneously envision myself doing whatever it is I would rather be doing, it's most often one of the following: yoga, meditation, or possibly enjoying the sauna by the sea. And when I picture myself doing any of the above, it's always with a tangible air of lightness and ease (that I am desperately lacking).

Today when I stubbornly decided that enough was enough and now I was going to do some yoga, my body felt like it belonged to an 80-year-old. A 60 minute practice took more than 90 to complete. Random thoughts clogging my brain made it hard to concentrate, so even though I usually try to give myself an intention with any given session, I could only muster enough mental strength to create an image of waves.

Anything to get this stuffed, tired, 80-year-old body moving.

Picture from Google