April 10th, 17:53 | 'I am a focal point of divine consciousness'

Alright, so the last time I did push-ups was while I was still on the gymnastics team, and I probably couldn't do a sit-up for beans. Despite my impending doom as a Lard-Ass (I'm predicting sometime in my 30s, given my penchant for snacking on KitKats, lack of Getting Off My Ass, and the eventual inevitable slowing down of my metabolism) I am good for something: since having signed up for the intermediate yoga class (the first one was Tuesday night), I'm shocked to discover that my instructor (whose name I've totally forgotten -- ack!) is right. She was saying that the beginners show some improvement, mostly because when you go from nothing, even once a week over 12 weeks will show a result, but that they're not particularly dedicated and why should they be? They're just beginning, and have no reason to invest the time/energy. With the higher-level classes though, she said, people do make a lot more of an effort to practice on their own time. And it's not just so they can keep up. It's because they "crave" the practice. She put it down to the serenity and spiritual equilibrium (or something) that you achieve when you're really focusing during the asanas; I'm currently of the belief that it's the endorphins. I'm cynical that way.

But, whether or not it's because I increase the flow of prana when I get off my ass and use my little cutesy colour-coded yoga cards (I remade them with more/harder postures on!) or if it's just the adrenals surging through my system, I do like it. And I craved it today. Then again, I had just spent the previous three hours cramming, interrupted by people dropping by to see the house.

Went around taking random pictures of the house. From different points of view. My mom was saying it's a good thing it wasn't a film camera, 'cause it'd be an incredible waste of film, but I can't really explain it to her. I grew up here. This is the only house I've ever lived in. I need these pictures, even if, a couple months after we move in, I'll never look at them again. I need to know that, should I need to, I can recapture at least part of what my house looked like. Example. Picture of me camped on my mom's bed looking in her mirror. Or from my bed, looking at the door to my room. The light on my ceiling. The bathroom mirror, from leaning on the door. Random bits and pieces. Trying to capture the completely familiar.

I'm afraid of leaving. I'm happy that people are interested in the house, and that my parents will likely not have any issues selling it -- I'm glad it won't be a huge source of stress for them. I love the way the house is so bright and clean, since we try to keep it in "show-worthy" condition all the time now (although it's exhausting keeping my clothes put away) and the way it's bright out now so the house fills up with light. (The way it's supposed to.) I just... don't want to think of any of that as being anyone else's.

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