Downward Dog

I suppose the time has come for me to write.

The universities did not want me. Rejection letters fought for their place at the top of the mail pile.

And so, presently, all signs point to Maine.

Enter Family.

Mother does not can not will not accept the friendly hand of the North. Every evening has been filled with pleas to settle with a smaller Virginian university and to chide The Atlantic as a simplistic child's dream of running away.

I know this is the hardest emotion in the world for my mother. I am the only one she has.

But I can't go to Mary Washington. I would float around in a state of Virginia prepaid misery.

I have also learned to keep my distance from the telephone of late as well, since the hate calls from my aunt filled with figures based on how I am going to squander my inheritance with college tuition seem to be the only greetings I receive from the handset.

I went to a yoga class tonight for the first time in an effort to hide from everything. Turns out I have a knack for bending into a human pretzel. The teacher walked up to me after class and stated that I was more flexible than some teachers, and that I should look more into the art.

Nothing beats something you are naturally good at to take away all other worries.

Well, most worries.

So many sentences have flown through the cerebral highway of late that potholes have started lining the route.

So much of my life seems about to completely reconfigure every possible facet.

The only thing I seem to be able to do is breathe.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.