Ground Hog Day

I set my alarm last night.  It was a different alarm and it didn't go off.  Well, that isn't exactly true.  It actually went off about an hour ago, 7:00 pm.  Not much help for a 7 a.m. wake up call.  It was probably for the best though because when I rolled over and looked at the clock at 8:00 a.m, I had a wicked headache.  It was accompanied by a wicked neck ache.  I'm no doctor (though I do play one on TV) but I'm pretty certain that the combination of painting, painting, painting and yoga created a lil' muscular stress in those areas.  I slowly got up and staggered to the kitchen.  I had only taken about ten steps but was already deep into the dialogue of how I seemingly failed to get up on time and contemplating if I was actually going to go downstairs for an a.m. practice.  As I swallowed a Naprosyn and prepared the French press, I managed to think about the deeper meaning of Tapas; not an easy task when your brain is doing its own version of spinal twist.

Tapas; the disciplined use of energy.   I could have gone downstairs and muscled through my headache and guilt.  In fact, a few years ago I probably would have.  I also would have struggled with the concept of a yoga practice, thinking instead that it needed to be a yoga perfect (I love that line).  What I did instead, however, is called Massage Envy to see if they could get me in asap.  It is what my body needed, it is what my mind needed and it required a different level of discipline altogether.  I hurt my shoulder patting myself on the back. "No worries," I thought.  The masseuse can address that as well.