I can’t write. Literally, I can’t write. I can barely fucking type as I’ve been doing yoga for the last three evenings, and I’m not sure if you know what a Turbo Dog pose is, but I’ll do my best to describe.

 Do a pushup, shoot your ass up in the air so you are on your hands and balls of your feet. Like a triangle. Got it? NOW STAY THERE!!! For five fucking minutes! Okay Turbo time. Lower your arms until they are an inch off the floor, and all the weight in your body has shifted and added six more G’s of gravity to your hands. NOW STAY THERE!!! FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES!!! Now do that for an hour. Get it? I’ve figured out that half the reason yoga is good for your mood is that you are just way too goddamned exhausted at the end to really take anything too seriously. But truly? I’m a gonna have some big guns after this week.

But so you know, I’m alive. And I am okay. I’m working it out, leaving little pieces of ennui behind on the mat.