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.