Heather and I went to our first Yoga class yesterday, Yoga 101. My back is occasionally sore due in part to my overly sedentary lifestyle, and I figured Yoga might be a good remedy. We showed up in loose clothing with out mats, our towels, our water bottles and an open mind.

At first I didn't like it. Then I started to hate it. Then I really fucking hated it. After an hour, it was finally over -- that was the only good part.

I'm just not psychologically suited for it. As I've mentioned, I resent having to eat, sleep, piss, shit, and breathe, and the first thing they teach you at yoga is that it's all about the breathing. Ugh. Then it's about relaxation, whereas I'm more interested in defeating my back ache through some kind of force.

It didn't help that I was obviously very bad at Yoga. I just have no body sense: I don't know where my shoulders are "resting," I don't feel stretches where I'm supposed to feel them. I was completely unable to relax. According to Heather, I wasn't just "so bad it was funny," I was "so bad it hurts to watch." The instructor "helped" me with my positions more than any other student there. And I silently resented her for it. (I don't like to be touched.)

Now, at least one friend of mine is going to think: "Well, you just hate it because you're not good at it."

Understand: I resent having to have a physical body. I wish I could exist as a concept, an idea, the living embodiment of my words, my thoughts, my knowledge, my works. A voice. As such, Yoga simply reminded me of every part of me I would just as soon leave behind.

Sigh.

But the fatigue remains, so I'm thinking maybe I'll try Tai Chi. At least that has some notion of force. I can relate to that a little more.

After Yoga, I must have needed to re-assert myself, so for lunch I had french fries topped with sloppy joes and cheddar cheese washed down with a gin and tonic. For dinner? Four shots of tequila, a Corona, and a hot dog with cocktail sauce.

I finally felt rejuvenated.