I had a 4 am yoga class today. Woke up refreshed at 3:30. Madness, no? I didn't show up for the first half hour of ragas because I don't speak whatever language they're in but the chanting I did show up for was soothing, yet upsetting; it gave me too much space in my head to be sad in. I don't know what the power of positive thinking is, but my family could use some of yours if you can spare any; our lips are not practiced with words like 'palliative' and I guess the years have allowed us to start tacitly believing if my mother's parents had lived this long, they'd just keep living forever. We don't seem to know how to help each other now. It's awful.
Anyways. Here's a list of people who are out at 4 am between my neighborhood and Little Italy/Portugal/Wherevs where yoga was:
1. Other bitches on bikes on thier way to yoga classes
2. One great big black guy on a bike on his way to a yoga class
3. A scabby woman who was obviously pretty once trying to sell me a bike when I stopped for water, despite me being on a bike already, who explained she was born on Bastille Day
4. Somebody in Little Italy/Portugal/Wherevs who I could smell making cannoli. Mmmmmmmm.