Waiting for warmth
I'm sitting here in the living room, looking out onto bare branches and grey skies, just waiting for the room to heat up enough (God bless our fireplace) for me to practice without having to wear a long sleeved shirt and socks. The hot apple cider I'm drinking helps too.
Yes, it's a moonday. No, I don't care, not today. I just want to practise.
The original plan was to go to a hot yoga class for the moonday, but that doesn't start until 10 and I knew I wouldn't get out of there until twelve. That would have left me exactly five hours in which to come home, shower, go to the market, go to the liquor store, prepare a multi-course meal that I've never prepared before and have the kitchen turned back into an orderly, tidy place before The Guy's parents arrive for dinner at 5 (because we need to eat early so that a certain companion of mine is free to watch the Colts-Patriots game at 8).
Sure, this was all my idea. Sunday dinner seemed like a great idea, what with my latest domestic/nesting instincts and all. But then roast beef was suggested, and I agreed to make it despite the fact that (a) I don't eat it, and (b) I've never made it before. But it all seemed so traditional and lovely and family-centred, and since I'm a sucker for that shit, I couldn't resist.
I think practice today will probably be faily improvisational.
Cider has been drunk. Mat has been warmed. I'm off.