zeldafitz

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Of Yoga and Inner Demons

I should clarify: On the whole office gig, my job is great. Honest. I work with really nice, intelligent people. My commute is--door to door--30 minutes. That is like a DC wet dream.

So what’s the problem? Technically there isn’t a problem. The fault lies not in my office, but in myself. (Clever, eh?)

The whole dilemma is the reconciliation dilemma, the old what-am-I-doing-with-my-life softshoe. I feel like a person who was plopped in a situtation and who is acting a part, playing a role. Sometimes I feel like the gardener in "Being There."

I do some exercizes in the morning, put on make-up (full drag) and get into costume more than anything else. I know a lot of people do that. I guess what I have a hard time reconciling with myself is: Is it possible to do something with your life that doesn't require a constant set of props, camouflage and mindsetters?

Maybe not.

I got up this morning and did a yoga tape. With MZA! Why yes indeedy we are the queerest couple in the universe! It’s confirmed. He’s naturally athletic, perfect, Asian, lithe and graceful, and I am the classic American OAF. It’s great!

I felt so much better after doing it, even tho the bambini came down just at the relaxation floor exercises and “joined in." They’re very “experienced," what with the Pajama Yoga Birthday Party and all. Ian does a mean downward dog. And eagle pose. Nick came down and took one look at all of us, shielded his face with his hand, and said, “Goodbye.”

I just have to: Figure it out. No one is to blame.

More importantly, there is the most amazing second hand bookstore across the street that is a DC institution, Second Story Books. I went there yesterday and communed with the Bookstore Archetypes. Oh yeah. The pale skinned woman with the frizzy hair, the giant yellow teeth, the overbite--the inevitable halitosis--who keeps appearing, with an enigmatic cat-smile, saying, “Excuse me,” in hushed, semi-apologetic tones. The guys behind the counter are all jazz aficionados, of course, arguing over a Benny Goodman “mint condition” record.

I bought two first edition novels by Knut Hamsun, because Henry Miller liked him, a biography of Coleridge (the early years) and an Andre Dubus story collection. As I pulled the Knut Hamsun books from the shelf, I thought about how books sometimes speak to you—I wondered about the psychological draw of the books that pull you in, the ones you want to reach for.

Just as I thought that, my eyes grazed over to the right hand shelf and I saw a copy of:
THE EXORCIST.