A Not-So-Yogic Episode

There is a very practical reason for writing at a set time of the day, and the earlier in the morning the better: other people.
Since I did not see the “write 800 words a day for 21 consecutive days” challenge coming at me (I learned of it the morning of the first day), I had precisely no time to prepare myself and gear up for a regimen that would accommodate writing time that’s held sacred.  For this reason, these first few days have been a bit slapdash on the writing front, and savasana has been virtually the last thing to happen each day (more later on the yoga challenge). 
This morning’s preferred writing time was taken over by following up to be sure the blogging situation is working, and to learn as much about twitter (also new to me as of two days ago) as I can. 
An appointment in the late morning kept me waiting for over an anxious hour when it might have been prudent to be at least writing on the laptop (or for crying out loud, I could have finished the fringy scarf hanging off my needles at the moment!)... but alas, I had not seen that far forward and brought nothing with which to entertain my creative self.
The afternoon brought a gentle work-out which I did in as yoga-esque manner as possible, all the while thinking that this time, tonight, I will be done with the writing before 8 pm and not be pushing myself into the wee hours again.  Having, two weeks ago, finally established a rhythm of regularity with decent sleeping and waking hours, being up late two nights in a row really throws a wrench in my rustworks!

At any rate, all but the most highly supervised forms of yoga are a risk for me at the moment.  I’m recuperating from a knee injury and have famously loose ligaments which are forever getting me into trouble in yoga classes - I have a tendency to accomplish positions that are way out of my league because I don’t have the strength to back them up.  John Friend once had me doing backbends on day one of classes I took with him - I’d never done one before in my life and had not practiced asanas for years, but inspired I became and over I went - and had to crumple myself down to the mat and curl into a ball in order to get out of it. 
So.... I’m going to get my asana in gear tomorrow and see what treasures the #215800 yoga video has in store.  I’m toying with the idea of a 5:45 class but (a) I’ve never met the instructor and don’t know if I want to risk entrusting my injuries to a stranger, and (b) if I’m up at that time maybe it would be best to use if for writing!
Because - ahh, yes- other people!
I’m socked away in the bedroom now, hunkered on the edge of the bed, trying to hammer out these words just because I said I would.  This is one of those writing times when it is just spent trying to get the exercise done already because the brilliance is not cooperating and the time is getting late and I want to be nuzzled up against my sweetie but I can’t because she’s got to deal with - oh yeah - other people!
Namely, the landlady.  She lives upstairs.  Last night when she said she’d come down some other time to have a look at our lights which have been flickering and shutting themselves down spontaneously, I marched up there and told her that ignored electricity issues can result in fires.  She reluctantly called the contractor who most recently handled wiring, and an electrician she knows.  They were supposed to be here at 6, which is right when we got home from the workout.  An hour later (at least we did not wait to eat dinner!) she texted my partner to say they’d be here tomorrow.  When she asked what time (the lady thinks that because we are self-employed we never leave the house!) she replied “don’t worry, I’ll use my key”.  Jenn texted back that we’d rather be here, and repeated the request for a notice about what time it would be.

So, some minutes pass and Jenn’s on the porch when her phone rings, so she asks me to pick it up.  Without even the decency of introduction, she says, “so why do you need to be there?”  At this point I’ve known nothing of their communication and have no idea what she is talking about, and I tell her so.  She gets me caught up and says, “So I want to know why you want to be there”.  I do my best to get into Jenn’s head, and choosing sentiments I know we share I said, “Probably because whenever a stranger comes into our home, we like to know about it”, to which she responds in a half-yell, “Well I’m the OWNER of the house and I would never bring anyone into it who...”.  At this point I suggest that, because she’s just begun yelling at someone who is new to the conversation and who is guessing in the first place, that it’s possible that her reaction is out of proportion to the actual event.

I then add that we would also want to keep track of our cat, make sure our space was ready for visitors, get our things out of the way, and most importantly we are best equipped to describe the situation.  I said that while it’s true she is the landlord, that tenants also have rights and that includes the right to be at home when strangers are brought into it.  I made a whole stunning string of arguments which unfortunately only reached my own and my lover’s ears... for the landlady had long since hung up.

One of my favorite yogic texts describes how a state of heightened emotional intensity can catapult the yogi into a state of union with the creative force of the universe- the very pulse of spanda.  Oh yeah- in order to attain that, the experient has to resist the tendency to spin off in a torrent of badmouthing and “for f***’s sake”ing and riding the adrenaline wave with such vehemence that when
she turns back
to the comical article she’d begun on the process of considering breast-reduction surgery,
she finds that she can only focus on the rant.  Oh yeah, the girlfriend’s ranting too.  Which is why I’m here, hunkered on the edge of the bed.  At over 1100 words at this point, and most of them crap.  But sometimes it just goes that way, and I have at least accomplished this:
Carved out the space and time no matter what, developed a fondness for writing early enough that nobody else can get into my stream, remembered at least for a moment one of my favorite yogic texts.  Savasana next. (Actually not, the landlady just turned up.  Whaddya know...)
Post-script:
Savasana along with YL's Acceptance oil goes a long way toward stabilizing the spinning vortex of churning mojo that occupies one's midrif after a shouting match with a person in the grips of a wildly irrational misperception.