It’s a full moon and I'm in a funk. Not the good Funkadelic sort, either. I wore my tall black boots to work today in an effort to add some zing to life, but no dice. The moon makes everyone sort of ungrounded--at least that’s what my yoga instructor said last night. At first I thought she was saying that the full moon was next week and that’s when I realized how ungrounded I felt. Full moons are weird. Things have felt off-kilter all week—just unbalanced enough to cause discomfort, even when I wasn’t awake. My dreams have been epic sagas replete with unprocessed emotional crap that only a full moon could dredge up. Broken friendships, old homes, childhood dramas, places I miss but suddenly can’t remember clearly. I wake up after sleeping hard and find that I still feel unrested.
Despite the lack of grounding, I came through tittibasana and bhakasana from my totally hack supta kurmasana for the first time in class last night. It wasn’t pretty but it was there.
L and I went to see Derailed on Wednesday and it was terrible. In the middle of a particularly violent scene, a man got up from his seat behind us and started yelling at a cinema employee in another row. It was so jarring that an older couple gathered their coats and left. I wanted to leave, too.