Vomiting at Bikram Yoga, Old Nudes at the Hotpools ...

30^th July 2012

I barely hairly knowly nearly wherely to start! So much is going on. Had an uh-maze-ing weekend. You know how I was doing the integration of the male aspect of myself when I went to Tracey (Beyond The Veil)?  Okay, fo’ shizzle on my dizzle, but I think it’s really HAPPENING. 

This integration (done as a visual meditation/healing session) meant finding the parts of myself that can, plainly speaking, get my shit sorted. I have a fully developed Poet and Sage (according to Tracey, and seeing as I’m so in love with myself these days, I see no reason to argue it). It’s the Visionary and Manager/Director aspects of myself that have been missing. Since I fell in love with Me the other week, I’ve noticed that these aspects of myself have increased in presence and strength. I’ve been making decisions about what I want to do, and within one week or a day, it’s falling into place. Sometimes within a minute.

I did experience a massive wave of stress about a week ago when I decided I really wanted to do the Hypnotherapy Training, then realised I was going to have to make money for it to happen. By 5.45am I’d applied for a job that should fit in with doing another contract for SETAC when that starts up again in October. It’s likely I’d still need benefit assistance with accommodation costs etc, but the main thing is that I’d be able to pay for the Hypnotherapy course.

On Friday I was in so much pain (my left shoulder and neck) that I could barely function.  I’m used to being in pain, but when I was doing Bikram Yoga (yes, say what you will of the man, but the yoga is great) pain issues were resolved within two to four sessions. I figured that one $20 class was more economical that getting a massage. The only other way I’ve successfully dealt with pain to the same degree was when I used to go swimming twice a week, hatha yoga twice a week and walking about an hour four times a week, and it took about three weeks to get good relief. Economically and time wise, Bikram or Hot Yoga is much more sensible.

So off I trotted, and because I’ve lost four kilos I noticed it was a lot easier to do than last year. I thought I’d find it really hard, being in pain and all, but instead I kept up quite well, stopping and resting if it felt too intense. It was when we’d done Camel Pose that I suddenly felt a bit squiffy and weird. 

This is roughly as far as I can go when it comes to Camel. This photo is from Bikram Yoga, Richmond Hill.

Edited note: I think I'm confusing camel and something else ... but it's the one above as well as the pose below that really bought it on.

Picture is by Andrew Woodburn.

I stood up and looked in the mirror (I was right at the front by the stage, it’s an unforgiving place to be). I thought ‘oh, am I feeling sick?’ and then my head felt all cottony. I lay down and looked up at the instructor and pointed at my mouth. This was my way of saying “I do believe I may chunder in the class”.

She nodded ‘leave the class if you have to’.

I wanted to. Oh god. I really did. But suddenly I was loose and numb. I tried to pull the towel further out as I realised what was coming, but I couldn’t even move my hand. Paralysed by nausea, weighted with lead cotton, the watery oat-filled vomit gushed forth and pooled across the towel on my yoga mat, and then slightly beyond. It was very fortunate that there was no one immediately to the right of me, the direction in which I spewed.

Wave after wave heaved out of me. The most beautiful woman in the room, another Bikram instructor, came to my aid. She got another towel (pristine, white) and shored up the area as I continued to gurgle and groan. After about the fourth wave  (mostly water it seemed) she tentatively asked if I could move.

“Nghahhh. Can’t move. Sorry. So. Sorry” I replied, feeling like my eyes were rolling back in my head. I had a sense of regret for all the people in the class, but one of my main thoughts was ‘please do not let me also shit myself’.  Fainting is kind of adorable, vomiting is gross, but shitting yourself in yoga class? Priceless. I knew if that happened I might never return. Fortunately for me, after about six more loud and lively chunder blusses, I was done. Suddenly I felt so light and clean. The lovely instructor  helped me up, not seeming to mind assisting a sweaty, vomitty woman at all. I sat on the cool floor outside the room and she got my drink bottle and replenished it with electrolytes and more water. She went into the room and gathered up my delightful towel and yoga mat and put them in a well sealed plastic bag for me to take home. She said that if you’re in a lot of pain, that can cause you to vomit. This made sense, and I also think it’s that particular pose, Camel, that really gets me. Last year, when I was depressed, I could not do it at all. If I tried, I would get overwhelmed with emotion, and I’d end up lying on the mat crying quietly.

I went and had a shower, got dressed, ready to go and meet a man for a drink. There’s this thing on Facepooh that I joined which is a bit like internet dating, but I'm not sure I have time for it these days.


 While I was getting ready, the instructor came into the changing room and asked if I was okay. I was all ‘oh yeah, I feel great now!’. She said she hoped it wouldn’t put me off coming back, and I said ‘oh not at all, I just can’t afford the classes at the moment’. She said ‘well we have a cleaning job going … one night a week and you get free yoga’.  Well smell, who’d have thought that spewing in yoga class would lead to such great rewards? So now I’m going to clean one night a week and go to yoga three or four times a week.

Feed me, or I'll scratch your couch, piss on your bed and vomit on  your favourite rug.

The drinks date was okay. The guy wasn’t bad looking, but he was an accountant. It’s like meeting another breed of animal or something. I immediately told him I’d just been sick, and he didn’t laugh, he looked a bit grossed out, so I knew this wouldn't be a match made in Heaven. He was flirty though, kept trying to find ways to touch me, but he also flirted awkwardly with the young waitress which I found a bit sad. She had fantastic tattoos of feathers on the inside of one arm which made me think of my old work friend from Sadlers, the one I called Feather. I asked if I could look at it more closely, and then chatted to her for a minute and then Accountant says

“So you must have a feathery touch?” and smiled in a way that he must have thought was charming. We both looked at him like ‘what?’ and he repeated it. Oh, ha ha ha we politely smiled.

Now don’t get me wrong, an awkward or try hard flirtation isn’t the worst thing in the world at all. It’s nice if people give it a go, and I’ve done far worse. I called a hot waiter boy ‘sweetie’ awhile ago, and promptly slapped my hand over my mouth and apologised.  Sexism or even a hint of condescension, especially to waiting staff, is just not cool. Yes, they’re serving you.  Yes, they might be hot and more stylish than you. This doesn’t mean they want you to imagine their feathery touch. They’re probably finishing their PHD in Something Mind Blowing, or doing a yoga course, or possibly have their own business making mosaics.

I didn’t dislike the Accountant at all, but I must admit, he wasn’t very exciting. He didn’t challenge any of my ideas, and the fact that he was squeamish about vomit annoyed me. I like my friends to be quite sturdy about these things.  When I related the vomit story to any other friend, their eyes lit up with delight, just as one would hope. It’s always fun to share your humiliations with someone who cares. What's a little vomit among friends?

On Saturday I recovered from yoga and spewing, then went to the hotpools with The Painter. God he makes me laugh! When we got there, we were surprised to find it was Nude Night. You know what that means. Lots of old people who have reached the point in life where they just don’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks of them and they’re gonna let it ALL hang out baby. 

The least pervy picture I could find of Little Annie Fanny.

Painter was alarmed at the possibility that it would be compulsory to get our kit off, but of course we were welcome to remain clad. I personally love getting naked, but preferably in nature and not within jizzing distance of a stranger. Yes, perhaps I’m a prude or making assumptions that just aren’t fair, but most of the men reminded me of the cartoons in ‘Little Annie Fanny’, it was a strip in the back of playboys back in the 70’s. Even at five these pictures had an amazing impact on me. Often the cartoons depicted Fanny in a see through baby doll nightie being chased by old men grabbing her breasts. From what I could gather all anyone wanted from her was her body. 


No one wanted to draw pictures with her, or just sit and talk with her. I would look at the pictures and wonder why all the men were old (mustaches featured heavily), and why didn’t Fannie put some clothes on and get out of that situation. I thought ‘well she must want to be there’ but I couldn’t fathom why. Of course I couldn’t ask mum because she would have told me off for reading her adult magazines.

By the time I was 10 I’d found mum’s Penthouses and studied the stories closely trying to figure out what men wanted, if it really was just big breasts and a see through nightie, or if there was room for girls with glasses, red hair and freckles who liked to read, draw and go to the beach.


 By the time I was 11 I knew that  I would one day be expected to give good blow jobs, but I hoped I wouldn’t have someone put their penis up my bum at the horse races.

One story that stayed in my head was told by a young guy who informed the reader that he was really good looking and a ‘jock’ (a term not used in New Zealand), but that he loved obese women. He shared his story about living next door to a really big lady, and how he fantasised that she also had a really hairy pussy. I think I read this story about four times in one sitting. It didn’t turn me on at all, but I was very interested in what the guy said, how he couldn’t admit to his friends that he liked big women, that he maintained a popular façade by going out with ‘hot chicks’. I thought ‘well, maybe someone secretly likes me then. Maybe someone will like a girl with white skin who can't run very fast.' That was all that mattered at Whangamata School in the early 80's, you had to be brown and good at running.

In the story, the Jock helps the woman with her groceries one day, but as he takes them from her, they slip and spill on the floor. They bend down to pick them up and he is overcome with lust and ends up doing her in the hallway, absolutely creaming it when he removes her giant pants to find a luxuriant bush of pubic hair. All he’d ever hoped for.  I found the whole thing a bit sad. He doesn’t go and hang out with her and get to know her, he keeps it as his fat, hard little secret. He continues to go out with skinny girls, thinking of the big woman’s folds of fat and plush pubis as he pumps away at some cheerleader. Even at 11 or 12 I felt sorry for this guy. He cared more about what other people thought than what would have made him really happy. I also thought it was just as strange as only wanting a woman because she has great big boobs and blonde hair. Was Anne of Green Gables wrong? Was Pippi Longstocking wrong? Did an inquiring mind and a pocket of talent not matter? Of course, all these characters were only that. Characters.

I was to eventually find out that there were boys who did appreciate me, but of course it coincided with gaining confidence in the way I looked. I had a feeling I would be late to the party, and I was correct.  This had many benefits, but that of course, is another long story.

What was I talking about? The hotpools. Lots of older, naked people. Big ladies, men with tiny dicks or big dicks, weathered skin, beautiful pale fat flesh shining in mineral water. The Painter noted correctly ‘you don’t even notice it after awhile’. It was only when someone walked past with their graying pubes at eye level that I’d wonder if it was rude to look away.  I wanted to remove my bikini top, but I just didn’t feel relaxed enough. If there were more spaces in our togetherness (ha ha)  I think I’d have gone for it, but this was way too intimate. I noticed that other younger (under 50) people kept their togs on too. There were about four exceptions.

As I say, getting nude is great, but I’m looking forward to doing it on a hot day at the beach where there’s a good 20 metres between me and other nudies. I don’t really want to be seen in that particular context. I just want to feel.

Afterwards I made Painter put on one of those face masks that cost a dollar in Korea, the ones that are like a cloth soaked in moisturizers. He agreed to this weakly, being completely shattered from working all day and then half sleeping in a hot pool full of pre come and flakes of skin.  We couldn’t stop laughing as the mask itself is absurd and doesn’t fit the face properly at all.

Dropped the Painter home and wished him well on his journey. He’s off to Europe, the lucky bitch. He’s got a friend/ex lover who lives over there and so they’re travelling around for about five weeks. I expect he shall have a lot of fun. Trains! Frankfurt, Paris, Berlin! Art! Stuff! He’s bound to come back saying ‘oh you should see the light in Berlin, it’s completely different from New Zealand. Paris? Some might say it’s overrated, but I felt right at home there. You must go one day!’

On Sunday I met up with a guy regarding nannying for his son, then parked in Ponsonby, walked into town, got tickets for ‘The Eye Has To Travel’ at the film festival, walked back to Ponsonby and took at look in this industrial/antique design shop. A hot girl was making coffee instore, and god it was good! I felt a bit high on everything, went to Grey Lynn and picked Tienke up from her work and then swooped back into town. Snarfled around looking for a free park, then decided to just suck it up and pay for the parking in front of the Silo Theatre (or Basement as it’s now known).  As I pondered the fact that it was coins only for the parking,  a guys was leaving and handed me his ticket (valid till the following day!). I yelled ‘I love you’ at him as he handed it to me.

The movie was good. I wish I could imitate Diana Vreeland, she was one amazing stick. The opening line was so funny, something like ‘First of all, one must arrange to be born in Paris …’.

Of course it was a completely different kind of satisfaction from seeing Beasts of The Southern Wild, but still really enjoyable and quite moving too.

Beasts was just incredible. I had to put my hand over my mouth to stifle sobs now and then, it was that good. After the movie, I dropped T back at her work, then drove into New Market and met up with Handsome Rob at Archie’s Pizza. He shouted (again) and it was divine. Such good pizza.

Then it was home again, home again, jiggity jig. It’s pouring with rain. I’ve decided to change Tosca’s name to Peachy. She’s never really been a Tosca, that was changed upon the ex boyfriend’s insistence once we found out she was a girl. I said a girl could still be called Oscar, since she’s, you know, a cat. It wasn’t to be, and so Tosca has been thus named for about 11 or 12 years. Time for a change. She is now dubbed ‘Peachy’.

Today I am going to clean my dressing table,  go to the Laundromat, then get to Yoga!

It’s a good life. I can barely keep up with it.

Love to you all!

Accidentally Stoned at Bikram Yoga, A good Date, More Dicky Internet Names and the End of A Friendship!

KNOW WHEN TO FOLD 'EM!



On Friday I visited a friend I’ll call Hal, went to Bikram Yoga and then sashayed into the evening for an internet date. At Hal’s I shared melon liqueur with tonic water, drank black coffee (no milk available) and ate icecream with chocolate sauce. This was before Hal even lit up a joint.

As you may or may not know, I can’t partake because I don’t really want to. Do you want me to move slowly, find it hard to speak and then fall asleep? If that was the goal, then that would be the drug for me! I politely declined, but of course must have accidentally inhaled during the course of breathing in the small living room space.

As a result, doing Yoga in a heated room ended up being very difficult indeed. I thought I was going to faint or vomit, or maybe both. Maybe I could vomit and then fall into it for good measure. I spent most of the class breathing deeply through my nose, lying flat on my back, sweating profusely. Fortunately the nausea and light headedness passed and I ended up feeling amazing. A few women in the changing room were really kind to me. One girl, stripped clean of any fat whatsoever, said she noticed I was completely grey at one point and was ready to perform first aid if necessary. Aw, how nice is that?

I showered and drank copious amounts of water, changed into my ‘innocent blue frock’ and turquoise shoes ready for my date. I was quite ready to meet with someone pleasant and boring and make the best of it, but he ended up being attractive with sparkling blue eyes and a ready smile. Yum.

He’s one of those people who gets better looking the more you look at them. I didn’t blurt out how much I liked his nose or anything, the way I might usually do when I fancy a man.

We’re seeing each other again next week. I was a bit more forthright than usual and he really appreciated it. I’m normally afraid of hurting people and tend to tip toe around a little bit, always trying to make sure I’m not misunderstood.

I told Lisa how I spoke to this lovely man and she said
“oh if he can take that then he doesn’t have a big ego. That’s good”

A man who is excessively egoic or too fragile won’t cope if you’re a bit full on, but the one who can take it is obviously not afraid to laugh at himself and at life.

Installment Two of Internet Dating Nicknames:

Today dear ones, I decided to search under nicknames using a simple formula. Who, I wondered, might nick name themselves something really stupid, like ‘dickhead’? Well, it turns out, more than you’d think. I would guess that many of these have been created as a joke ... but what if some of them were not? What then, would this mean? It would mean we have way too many dickheads in NZ.

Search 1: type in ‘dick’

These are my favourites.

Dickosaurus (32, Auckland): this is kind of cute actually. Least offensive.

Dickname (52, Auckland): his name is Dick and so he thought it would be really cutesy to play on that fact. He’s been given a lot of shit about Dick all his life, so now he’s going to play it like the Muppet in the episode where Kenny Rogers sings “the gambler”. Know when to fold ‘em Dick, know when to fold ‘em.

Dickwad (72, Auckland): this one is a joke. A man of 72 isn’t going to call himself Dickwad. But what if he did? What if it was a nasty, smelly, angry old man jerking off in his crusty old Y-fronts and telling people to fuck off?

Dickcheez (52, Nelson Bays): Likewise, I can’t see this being someone’s real profile. Why would someone admit to dick cheese?

The winner in the dick search is (cockin’ drum roll please):
DICK HOLE (Dunedin, 20): This could be a sad country song –

“I’m in Dunedin and I’m sad and lonely
lookin’ at my dick and wishin’ you’d phone me
You know I don’t love ya but I want ya to blow me

ohhhh, my dick hole, ohhhhh oh, my magic dick hole!
(imagine enthusiastic crowd joining in)

Sing it with me!

I asked you if you’d sit on it
but you want no part of the magic slit
cos it’s all clogged up with shit and grit

oh, ohhhhhhhhhhhh my magic dick hole!”

Sorry. That was uncalled for. It appears that my humour might fall under ‘horrible teenage boy’ category at times. So be it.

Search 2: ‘bum’

The only good one that came up was BUM CHUM (46, Wairarapa), and I’m glad it’s in capitals, because you know, the message may not have otherwise got through.

Search 3: ‘wank’

Wanky (28, Upper Hutt): Oh wanky, I’ve longed for this connection. As soon as I saw your dating nick name I felt this stirring in my heart and knew we were meant to be together.

Wankey (26, Otorahanga): So this is special – you wank, but it’s a key. You’re a clever young man. If only you were in Auckland!

Search 4: ‘lick’

Lick clit (24, Christchurch): Christchurch might be falling apart, but at least there’s a young man doing his part. Oh Lick Clit, you inspire me.

Lickmymince (24, Rotorua): Most intriguing! So, do you really have a plate of mince you’d like me to lick, or are your genitals so mutilated that they resemble mince? It’s quite confusing, I’d love to know more, but Rotorua is a long way to go. Tell you what, throw in a visit to the Polynesian Spa and maybe I’ll consider it.


Sunday 8th January

Ah, it’s still raining folks. Watched “Never Let Me Go” last night. Dark, depressing, sad and yet quite satisfying. I must be over my depression if I can watch something like that. I came to the conclusion that it was a clever way to demonstrate how people do not question the status quo, that the people who are cloned do not rise up and rebel against what is inhumane and disgusting because it’s ‘for the greater good’.

I also liked the simplicity in it – that we all need to have a reason to live, and to love and be loved. The value of life increases when you have to fight for it.

Speaking of value, I have a friendship of 18 years that has finally died. I had done a prayer of sorts awhile ago, asking for that which needed to die in my life to do so, so that new growth and goodness could come in. The following day, this friend, who I will call Rose, got annoyed with me about something trivial. She didn’t communicate properly about it, and it followed an old pattern in our friendship that I’ve become weary of.

Nothing I ever do or say reassures Rose; she’s always measuring the friendship, making mental (and literal) notes of anything I do ‘wrong’. Years ago she wrote a long letter to me listing all the things I’d done wrong in the previous year, attacking me and saying how selfish I was. Her timing was brilliant. I was recovering from the worst breakdown I’ve ever had or am likely to have in my life. The things on the list were bizarre, as if she’d been scratching around in an old barrel to find fault with me.
Things like ‘you didn’t light the candle for my birthday’, when she had told me she wasn’t sure she wanted me to even do it! When I pointed this out, she refused to even hear me out. She said that none of it had ever been misunderstandings, that I had purposely done these things to hurt her. Um, right, because that’s what I’m all about.

Most recently I’d asked if I could stay at her place for one night when I was in the midst of my lovely ‘surprise depression’. I needed a friend; I needed a change of scene. I was a mess.

She said no, that wouldn’t be possible until the new year (which was a few months away at the time). Instead I asked Lisa, and not only did she say yes, she treated me like a Queen. The contrast was glaring.

God knows, I did still try this time. I emailed saying I wanted to save the friendship but that she needs to take responsibility for her emotions. She wrote in an email that she won’t explain herself or take ‘all the blame’ and that the friendship was over. Blame for what? I don’t blame her. I think that once again, she’s imagined a rejection coming from me because she rejects herself. This has nothing to do with me. She’s imagining all sorts of hurt where none exists, because she needs to be a victim, to play a role she’s comfortable with. And no, she doesn’t read my blog, never has.

Farewell Rose. It was a pretty wonderful friendship, but a lot depended on how willing I was to play the part you assigned me. I don’t need it anymore, but I will always hold love in my heart for you. It would have been great if you’d had the courage to admit you over reacted, the courage to be the strong one in the friendship for once.

Life is too wonderful to spend time trying to prove to someone that they are lovable. You can never assure someone else enough. You can’t debase yourself enough. You can say sorry when you’ve done nothing wrong, but again, it will never fill the hole inside them. You have to let them go with love and hope they find their way. I feel good. I know I have been a fucking awesome friend and given absolutely everything I could, but I can’t sacrifice my soul. That’s asking just a little too much.

Instead, I have time for friends who allow me my humanity, who are willing to talk about it if they feel hurt, and I do the same. Otherwise you end up shutting everyone out, suspicious and fragile, willing to judge others and make them guilty.

Here’s to love. x

A short Blog because I want to post a song!

Lord love my ducklings and bless my bum, this song, old though it is, is somehow new to me. I don't know why, but it fits me like the proverbial. Yes, the proverbial leather glove in all it's kid glory. Cream antique leather gloves that reach the elbow.

It's humid and today I've been to Bikram Yoga and also went and saw Suzanne's performance after she'd done two intensive weeks of dance training.

Bikram Yoga was, as usual, a sort of wonderful torture. I truly admired the big girl next to me, she was going for it and a hell of a lot more flexible than me. Why, I can't even get my face flat down on my knees, that's how much of a slacker I am.

The Bikram teacher was a little bit of a bitch today, but I forgave her because peace came to me as I looked at the patterns in the wood grain on the ceiling. Heaps of genital shapes.

I'm obsessed with sex (but in the nicest way), reading, music, friends, coffee and the sea.

Suzanne's performance was a 13 minute intensive exploration of the struggle inherent in leaving the past behind. The way the able-bodied and disabled moved together was fucking amazing; Suzanne was lifted upside down and throwing herself around with the force of a little tornado. Beautiful and inspiring. I nearly cried; it was so cool to see a physical performance work it's way into my heart like a well-crafted poem, painting or story. Something shifts. It's alchemy.

Music, friends, Night Walking in Bush, Bikram Yoga ...

The above date says Thursday, but that's just when I uploaded the video of D.O.E. Today is in fact Monday the 12th of December. Welcome.

Photo to left: A breakfast I Enjoyed ... all grilled with too much olive oil ... mmm!

Mushrooms with blue cheese, tomatoes with cumin and salt mined from Himalayan mountains and therefore ruining the environment (thanks Peter, I love guilt, it tastes delicious), avocado with lemon, eggplant, pineapple (tinned) and of course, pepper.

Christmas approaches ... my current obsession with 'Department of Eagles' continues. Mum said they sounded 'Beatalistic', a sentiment also shared by Peter and Cornelius.

Andrew is in France with his family on a month's holiday, I am so happy for him. It makes my heart go all ocean-like to think of him enjoying this adventure. There was a pot-luck dinner at his flat last Tuesday with his really lovely flatmates, friends and a good feed. I took tomatoes cut in half, grilled with olive oil, cumin, sexy salt and blue cheese, as well as some roughly mixed avocado (couldn't really pass as a smooth guacamole).

We've finally finished being lovers I think, and though the form changes, the love itself is deep, sincere and able to withstand this shift. It's friendship on a whole different level really. Is that what unconditional love is?

Night Walking:

On Friday Peter suggested going to the beach and then for a night time walk in the bush, one he's taken Claire on before. Walking in fading light out in the Waitakeres was really beautiful, and as the darkness intensified we were able to see the alien light of glow worms. We stopped to have a few drinks near a picnic and bbq area and I turned my head in time to see a little owl, a Morepork, alight on a fence to observe us for a second. We talked about all sorts of good shit, and it felt good to have an excellent platonic male friend again. Haven't had that for ages. Back in my 20's I always had good male friends, but as they paired up and reproduced, things changed. Obviously. They're not going to climb up the fire escape of your flat at 3am and ask if you want to go to Mt Eden to get stoned. They now have 2.5 children and a mortgage to pay, or have descended into an excess of drugs and alcohol from which they may never return.

The walk was far longer than I expected it to be, but the smudgy darkness also throws off perceptions of time. We ended up at the bottom of the dam, the sheer wall rising before us, Peter cheerfully indicating the stairs. He bounded up them and I followed behind at a gentler pace. The moon came out to say hello. I dragged my feet on the way back and realised I might accidentally get fit if I continue to do missions with Peter.

Brunch with Corn

On Saturday I took Cornelius out for brunch. We saw a really cool dog on Ponsonby Rd. It had a barrel-like body from which rather spindly, long legs trotted along. It was white, and it's cartoony dog-face was smiling, looking around as if to say "me, me, I'm so glad to be me!".

The owner saw me and Corn looking at pointing at the dog and he smiled proudly.

"That's not the next dog you expected to see" said Corn thoughtfully.

I laughed in excess, for some reason that really did it for me. Because what is the next dog you expected to see? A Labrador?

It was cool to hang out with Corn. We have known each other since I was 21, and flatted together for more than three years from when I was 22. It isn't one of those close, intense friendships, but it's one that feels very comfortable when you're with that person. It seems as if there's not a skerrick (a word he'd like) of artifice. You know who you are, they know, and you both know that you know. It's comforting. We can sit and not talk while having coffee, or we can sit and say something inane, and it's fine either way.

The Man ...

On Sunday morning I had breakfast with The Man. The Man was one of my internet dates from ages ago, but we've both been busy and making time to catch up has proven challenging. He's a lovely man. Very masculine, but intelligent. Oh, I make it sound as if masculinity immediately cancels out intellect, ha ha! I don't mean that, but I guess what I do mean is that he isn't an "Intellectual". Perhaps being intellectual is a bit over-rated anyway. What's the point of brains without balls? Mind you, all balls and no brains isn't exactly a turn on either (thinking of Simon, aka Wylie!). God, can you believe I was so in love with him? He was intelligent in that Structural Engineering way, but not in a way that took art or interesting books into account.

Bikram Yoga

So yesterday T and I watched 'In Time' which was a nice bit of entertainment (and soooo symbolic, ha ha!). The outfits were also good, though I do wish people would stop wearing long leather trench coats in movies. Come on, it's over, the Matrix got there first.

We then went to Ponsonby for Bikram Yoga. Fuck. It was really hard yesterday. All this emotion rose up for me, and I felt quite sick. I had to ly down and keep breathing through my nose ... in, out, in, out. I was overwhelmed by a deep, nameless sorrow.

Fortunately I decided this was a fleeting emotion, that it was passing, and then I thought about how loved I am by friends. I thought of Andrew looking at me and saying "I will love you forever", and I calmed down. Peace came. I kept moving, stretching, sweating.

Here's something I like by Byron Katie:

I define “sanity” as a mind that is completely at peace, and “mental illness” as a mind that is suffering from any kind of stress. Stress is optional. Suffering is optional. This is the most amazing piece of good news that ever came my way, and it found me when I was in the depths of despair. I discovered that when I believed my stressful thoughts about myself, about others, and about life, I suffered, I was truly insane. And when I questioned my stressful thoughts, I didn’t suffer. And I have come to see that this is true for every human being. That doesn’t make it true for you; it just makes it true in my experience. Byron Katie

This is the time of year when people get stressed about money, family gatherings, expectations. Do whatever you can to stay sane this season. Find peace.

That's my present to you darlings: a little bit of sanity. Find a place to breathe, allowing what you do have to come to mind. I've spent way too much time lamenting what I don't have lately. That's just fucking crazy. So I'm smiling now. I'm thinking of my beloved friends and feeling good in my skin. Life is incredible. It's good to be.