I wish all weekends were 4 days. That would be awesome. If my weekends were all long ones, I’d look like this every day:

This is what happy looks like.

Unfortunately, this is not the case. Weekends, including the one we just had, are a mere two days, instead of the more awesome four. I talked to this weekend and it told me it wishes it were longer. Maybe the government should take a look at this.

I went to hot yoga today. It was very hot. I would write more about this, but I’m all shrivelled from sweating out 90% of my body weight and 110% of my electrolytes, so I’m going to write about it tomorrow, when I have more time and have returned to a normal internal body temperature. Because it’s 10:45 (not that you can tell, because of the no time stamp) and I’m going to bed.

Also, Maui is very whiny these days. More than usual. We’re not sure what’s going on, but we have some theories. I’ll fill you in on them later, after I’ve collected more empirical evidence. Probably she wants tuna juice. That cat loves a juicy can of tuna.

Catch you on the flip flop.

Well, it started out so well. I was up and at ’em bright and early, so I could get out to Feel Good Yoga to sub for my friend Laura’s 8:15 am powerflow class. It was a great class, lots of fun and smiles, which is always gratifying. Then, it was back into James Bay for ballet at 10 am. This was the first class I’ve managed to catch since New Years (have I mentioned I’m too busy?). Super fun! I love ballet. It always feels like home (despite the fact that my arabesques suck and weirdly, my turnout and crappy feet haven’t magically gotten better as I’ve aged).

People are always talking about "putting on their dancing shoes," whereas I actually do it.

The plan to blog earlier didn’t pan out, as you’ve probably realized by the time stamp (I don’t even know if there is a time stamp on my posts, and I’m too lazy to save this draft and check, so I’m just going to go with it). It’s 12:03 am. Actually, it’s 1:03 am, because tomorrow we spring forward for daylight savings. If I didn’t already dislike spring as far as seasons go, losing an hour would push me over the edge. Fall, on the other hand, which is already favourite, has the good sense to bestow upon me an extra hour (in which I can, by some unknown magical force, accomplish about 93 extra hours of chores/work/sleep/stuff).

So yeah. That’s what we get. Thanks, Spring, for nothing. This is all your fault.