Balancing Stick, You Bastard

I keep falling out. Jesus, it's a ten second posture! Something always comes into my mind to distract me.

For instance, Tammy. Tammy used to be a yoga teacher at a studio where I used to practice. She was created by God to be a dominatrix, but instead was teaching yoga. Whether or not this actually happened, I picture her screaming at me that I am not doing a good enough job. I don't yet look like a sideways letter "T"!

Well, I probably didn't, but all jesting aside, fuck, this pose is hard. I can hang out with the best of them for the minute-long poses. I can bend myself into a pretzel and stand on one finger while reciting the Marx-Engels Reader. But that thing where I do the hard thing for the short time! S.O.S.!

I need the determination of 1,000 steers, or a recent college graduate ordering margaritas at a New York bar. My friend and yoga teacher Sarah is going to pinch me if necessary to keep me on pointe, literally, if I don't ship-shape. I have the muscles of a fighter. It's my mind of a mosquito I've got to work on. Concentrate!

What?