I have one nerve left and I’m on it
As in sitting on it
It’s my sciatic and holyfuckingshit I don’t get it especially when I’ve been doing so much yoga. Also my right knee feels bulby and there’s this alien in my left forearm that weirdly pulsates and my shoulders are shifting and my arches ache.
Which brings me to the conclusion that I am either yoga-ing all wrong or turning into the Hulk
I finished the 30 day yoga challenge and I’m doing it again, you know, because maybe this time I can do more of the stuff instead of just being aghast most of the time. I thought I was in pretty good shape but yoga is difficult and at first I was nicely sore and doing it again the next day felt good on the sore muscles and woke up some new muscles, sometimes entire gangs of them, and things were going mostly great until she said words like crow and tree and wheel and I said words like fuckno and fuckhow and fuckoff.
And then things got weird(er) because I started wondering what else I am doing wrong without knowing it, so I started a list of possibilities that ranged from basic bodily functions like gas to jam making because recently I made some of both by accident
So, like, how do YOU make jam?
Anyway. Me and Daisy just went for a walk. It’s early and it’s ghostly out there. No horizon and everything is pale and it’s lovely. I don’t know about you but I don’t know how to September and am dressed in shorts and a tank top still, and today, I fit into the world nicely, which is def not something I say every day, unless I’m swimming that is because when I’m in the water I fit into the world not only nicely but perfectly and beautifully.
On the walk I was thinking of a few things…
One is the book I am reading, or books actually: The Neopolitain Novels, a series of four books by Elena Ferrante. My Brilliant Friend, the TV series, is based on them and it, the series, and they, the books, are fantastic. And I guess I want you to really dig that statement because I don’t usually use commas as you know because I like the freedom and gassiness of run-on sentences and that was supposed to be gaspiness but spellcheck needed a laugh I guess just like the rest of us.
Anyway. The Neapolitan Novels are fantastic. Everyone should read them – and judging by the number of holds on them at the library – everyone is. And then everyone should watch My Brilliant Friend, the third season of which – based on the third book, duh – might be out in April if we all cross our fingers
Elena Ferrante writes with a urgent familiarity so it feels almost like she’s whispering right at you and this sort of takes my breath away as a reader, but also as a writer because it’s what I try to do in my fiction. Or maybe try is an unnecessary word. It’s what I do in my fiction.
The best compliment I’ve ever had was when someone said “I could hear your voice” when she read a story I wrote. I’m still flattered
The other thing: Maybe my sciatic is ripe because on the opposite side my heart is heavy and maybe I’m trying to achieve a sort of balance. You know. Yoga shit. Balance out the pain.
My heart is heavy because my brilliant friend is sick and she’s not just my brilliant friend she’s my longest-standing friend as in all our lives. We wasted our youth together. We travelled. We shared. We loved. We lost. But mostly we won. And we did it together.
It’s a perilous world, guys. Hang the fuck on
