I have an assignment that's due tomorrow. I should have worked on it this afternoon but I spent all day watching That 70s Show instead. Then I decided that since I can't work at night, I should just go to sleep and wake up at four and do it.
So by ten I was in bed. Tossed for an hour, worrying about it.
Got up. Drank three cups of coffee, smoked lots of cigarettes and sat down to it.
I finished it in forty five minutes. I think I entered a higher plane.
But I can't get to sleep now. Because of all that coffee that was supposed to keep me up till three am.
Damn.
The next time I do something like this, I should remember I'm a genius.

The benefits of yoga.

Monday onwards, I am starting yoga classes.  I was supposed to three days ago but I'm going to need a little time to mentally prepare myself. Waking up at six thirty isn't something that should be taken lightly. I'm pretty sure it could even strain my system.

I have to admit I'm a little nervous though. Mrs Khera, who's also taking them, demonstrated the Surya Namaskar for me at breakfast today. There's this bit where you bend over, keeping your knees straight, and touch the palms of your hands to the ground. I tried reproducing that in my room and I won't go into details but I had to hastily remove myself to bed and I spent the next half an hour lying on it with a pillow under my back. Mrs Khera is fifty five (or more) to my nineteen. This is not right.

Never mind. That's the point of yoga. It will make me flexible. I will be able to bend and twist and turn and maybe it'll also help me to stop tripping over things. I'm pretty sure it'll also give me peace of mind and all that. Two weeks from now, when I wake up in the morning, instead of wishing that I could just spend the rest of the day (preferably the rest of my life) in bed, I will spring from it with a graceful leap like those annoying girls from Enid Blyton's St Clare's.

Yoga will make me patient. It will enable me to concentrate. It will expand my mind. It will put me in touch with my inner consciousness. Basically with a little luck, it will overhaul my personality. This can only be a good thing.

Pablo Neruda: Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.