Last night the prodigal returned to yoga after a month of sloth and brandy butter. While waiting to go in, I decided to stop fidgeting and scan my body. That’s what you’re supposed to do in Savasana, my favorite pose. I found:

    Feet: Prada combat boots (very post-September 11th.)
    Legs: downtown Chaiken pants.
    Back: absurdly expensive Boblbee backpack ‘for urban commuting’ (gift, coveted beforehand).
    Belly: contains six mini Nestle Crunches
    Arms: holding far too many consumer devices
    Hands: nails chewed so far down I need a Swiss Army knife to open the tools on my Swiss Army knife.
    Head: downloading earnest British edition of No Logo.

I am not very Zen yet. In fact, I’d make a good Human Time Capsule for 1999.

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