this day, this monday, i got up, i went to work, i came home and, let it be known herein, i did a round of yoga.
i did a bit of thinking over my holidays and have come to the conclusion that i want the second half of my thirties (and hopefully the rest of my life) to be dedicated to my very own mental health. lately, this has meant (often unsuccessfully) avoiding heated political discussions with my dad, realising when other people's problems were indeed their own, letting go of the desire to have everyone do things that make some kind of sense, ceasing to give a shit about the middle east and generally training myself in the mantra of "fuck it all."
we'll see how succesful i am, but i no longer want to work myself into a quivering, twitchy ball of electrified nerves because my friends or family members insist on making ridiculously stupid decisions. after all, as long as those decisions do not have direct bearing on my very own little corner of the universe, they are really and truly none of my business.
i also want to do more yoga, not purely for the physical benefits but more importantly for the psychological ones. after all, whenever i am faced with idiocy or depression, my tendency is to try for a round of yoga breathing and it seems to work.
so you want to discuss the palestinian/israeli problem? may i suggest someone other than moi?
books on how we are fucking up the environment without clear suggestions for improving the situation? not interested.
oh look! idiots driving hummers? let st. peter deal with them. as long as the law prohibits me shooting them, i will keep my middle finger down.
here's to me becoming a little more relaxed.