I’m referring mostly to a couple of moles, to which I’ve grown fairly attached over the years, largely due to the fact that they’re kind of stuck on me, or I on them. I was a bit concerned about a mole I didn’t recall as being there previously, but wasn’t particularly worried, which translates to me taking about 6 months to book an appointment with my doctor to check it out.

And here’s a note: Maybe, when seeing your doctor about a concerning mole, try not to be an eejit and get a brutal sunburn on your back two days before your appointment. You will get a lecture. And let me tell you, getting a lecture about sunburn damage while you’re in a fair degree of pain from your moment (okay, more like several moments, or even hours) of indiscretion is completely unnecessary. Trust me.

The lowdown is that the mole I was worried about is nothing to worry about, but two more unfortunately are, and ergo, shall be coming off. I wouldn’t mind too much, but one of them is on my left forearm and I’m kind of used to seeing it there. It looks like a little turtle, which is, incidentally, much the same reason my doctor wants to remove it. Sigh.

I have so far heard that it’s quite painful and leaves an ugly scar, or that it doesn’t hurt at all and I won’t notice it. We will see. On September 9th…

Apparently doesn’t work. My left knee has decided to be all stupid about something. I’m not sure what I did, or whether some other joint, like my elbow, said something to piss it off, but seriously. Let’s communicate and move on.

See, I’d like to help it. But I don’t know what it needs. I hear it clicking and cracking. And occasionally, I can tell it really, really wants to bend backwards like an ostrich leg. But I don’t know what that means.

This is super-annoying. I have busted my ankle to the point of unbelievability, torn hamstrings on both legs (on multiple occasions), suffered hamstring-related nerve damage, injured my neck and put up with scoliosis, but at least my knees have always played nice. And now this.

Please, please, please get better knee! I’ve taken a week off running, no dance classes for 3 weeks and cut my yoga practice down, leaving out any potentially knee-impacting asanas. I’m going crazy here. Please get better. I miss you when I didn’t think about you.

Kay, thanks. I hope this chat helped. I really meant it.

It seems to be the wee small ligament attaching to my fibula. Sigh.

Okay, so last year, we held a 30+60=90th birthday party for Adam’s mom and me. It was really fun, but we learned a couple of things:

• The weather is not reliable in September. It used to be, but it isn’t anymore. It might rain…
• Planning an event on the same weekend as BeerFest is a recipe for a small party. Avoid that weekend.
• Lasagne takes forever. Especially if it’s veggie lasagne. That’s a lot of dicing and chopping.

So, we’re holding it this year on the August long weekend. Hopefully the weather will cooperate, because we’ve had a gawd-awful summer thus far. I’m thinking positively.

I’ll be making veggie chili this year and I REALLY hope it’s faster than lasagne.

I’m teaching a yoga class (how to get all ages/abilities doing yoga regardless of their outfit is still escaping me. We’ll see. I’m sure I’ll think of something…) and Adam’s teaching a dance class again. Adam’s dad and his parents’ neighbour have created a putting game, so that should be pretty fun.

I always have so much fun at these things, but gosh, I’m tired already. Speaking of tired, I am that. Tired. I think it’s the lack of flex days. I get more vacation days (4 weeks vs 3 weeks), which is awesome, but no flex days, so that’s about 26 days that I’m used to having off in addition to vacay. I’m not complaining; flex days aren’t free days, really. I had to work an extra 47 minutes each day to earn them (yup, 47. Not 45). It’s just that I’ve gone straight through since Christmas with no time off apart from stat holidays. Turns out that’s a long haul. I need a vacation, but we’re too poor, so no trip away for this girl. Sigh. Okay, I am complaining. Just a bit.

Anyway, here’s the party invite I made:

I have one.

So the thing is, I write a blog for work, which is very cool. I am enjoying writing the work blog, which is entirely health-issue related. Every week I have a new health issue to blog about. Easy peasy. Lemon squeezy.

The problem then, is that I have blog-tigue when it comes to my own blog. I have been trying to avoid keeping to one topic, because I don’t want to limit myself. The result has been that I can’t see the forest for the trees and rarely post on here.

I need to think of something to write about here, at least once a month. I was looking for some poems I’d written, because I wanted to find them and I also thought it would be an easy solution to the blockage. But I couldn’t find ’em, so they’re not up and neither is anything else, either.

Hmm… I need to think of something to write about on here.

So, I’m trying to balance a full-time job, teaching yoga, following a traditional Ashtanga practice (6 practice days per week) and still having time to sleep.

Teaching at the school I attend is tricky, because, well, the studio’s having some financial trouble (translated: we don’t get paid very often). I was teaching two classes for a government group that wants onsite yoga, but we’ve trimmed it down to one over the summer. I was pretty stoked to only teach two classes, but a teaching offer has come up that is really great. Only thing is, it’s for a Sunday class, which means no weekends away.

Adam doesn’t think I should take it without dropping another class, but that’s so hard. The class to drop, without question, is the one at my school, for many reasons (not getting paid is but one of a myriad of reasons), but I also love my students there. So, to solve it, Adam and I just fought about it and now it’s an hour and a half past when I should’ve gone to bed, seeing’s how I’m up at 6 am to practice.

Seriously. Yoga is stressing me out. That looks wrong even to read… sigh.

So, it occurs to me that people in general aren’t super happy. Not about anything in particular, but mostly about everything. And I think that, maybe, the problem is we assume that’s okay. People assume we have to be unhappy, or at least just not not be unhappy, if that makes any sense. Adam deciding to go into coaching has me thinking about this even more.

To spend your life in pursuit of pleasure is considered hedonism, which is not something we, as a society, feel is a respectable pursuit. Apparently, the pursuit of drudgery, cynicism and a general sense of malaise is much more apropos to life in our fast lane.

I dunno: I kind of think life is short, so we should enjoy it. I mean, assuming that whatever you enjoy isn’t harming anyone else or directly inhibiting their pursuits, that is. I know this is pretty simplistic and there are a million arguments about why my simplistic views on life and happiness won’t work in the real world. But that’s okay. I guess as long as there are more people who assume that a life of not-happiness is a given, then it makes more room for me to find my happy way.

I’m looking for a way to live my life with passion, filled with happiness and pleasure. Moments of joy. I’ll always be looking for them, not because I don’t think I’ll find them, but because it’s a journey I wouldn’t want to be over.

If this doesn't make you smile, there's nothing I can do to help you.

but it’s 10:30 pm and I’ve recently learned that life is, in fact, a whole lot better when you’re getting adequate sleep. Far fewer bad days and meltdowns over nothing. So, I gots ta hit the pillow. I’ll be back soon. Bon nuit!

Today, we got news that Osama Bin Laden has been killed. Part of the world mourned and part of the world rejoiced.

Nearly 10 years ago, we watched in helpless terror and sadness as we got news that terrorists had used innocent victims to kill more innocent victims. Part of the world mourned and part of the world rejoiced.

We’re not so different from each other after all.

Faith, religion and belief will always be personal decisions, really, when it comes down to it. They are all merely different languages telling the same story: None of those stories preach cruelty, fear and pain. The stories strive to teach us love, compassion and forgiveness.

We’re not so different from each other after all.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

This candle is not in any one man's memory; rather, for all of humanity, in memoriam, in present and for the future. I hope that light will burn away the dark.

Seems like I just never have enough time. What with my Lenten FB fast rapidly reaching completion, I can’t help but look back and think, gosh, but I didn’t accomplish much.

I have NOT written my proposed weekly (at minimum) posts. I have not repotted the plants that are growing out of their pots in search of more hospitable accommodations. I haven’t even touched my flute case. And Wrinkly Clothes Mountain is no closer to an ironing board than I am to a million dollars (and that’s a looooong way off).

I am, however, teaching 3 yoga classes a week, in addition to trying to still fit in my 6 days of practice, 3 mornings at the pool and 3 morning runs. I say “trying” when I really mean “failing”. What has happened to my long-established morning routine? I’ve gotten it partway back, only to be waylaid by an angry shoulder, the mother of all blisters and really bad sleep debt.

Luckily, Adam’s back this weekend (hallelujah!), which is good, because I a) love him, and b) am clearly unable to operate like an adult and send myself to bed when he’s not here.

On that note, I must bid adieu, because it’s already past my pumpkin hour, which means I may wimp out of my a.m. practice… sigh…

Sittin’ @ Waves Cafe in Gastown, tapping on the iPad (how’s that for dedication? It takes effort to blog on a tablet!). I’m in Vancouver for the weekend with Adam and I’m extremely pleased to report that it is sunny, for a change. Normally, my intention to spend the weekend here jolts Mother Nature into releasing a deluge upon the city for a full 48 hours. Clearly, the curse has been lifted. You’re welcome, Vancouver.

As the title indicates, I’m a little past the halfway mark on Lent and so far, so good. I don’t even miss Facebook. Sure, I’ve missed some parts of it, like posting my gems of insight and communicating with people with whom I’ve evidently lost the ability to contact otherwise. I’ve also missed some events, because without accessing FB invites, I don’t know what’s going on.

But really, I’m enjoying my log-off. I think when I sign back in at Easter, I’m going to see if I can set it to only access my profile page. It’s reading everyone else’s statuses for aeons that sucks my life away like a vacuum kills any spider in my house. I’d like to think I can just exercise self-control, but in this one regard (and only this one), I’m a realist. We’ll see…

I have definitely gotten more sleep, done more chores and spent more quality time with mes amis. Tuesday nights are now movie nights with my neighbour & colleague extraordinaire, Gillian, and my bestie Ashley. So far, we’ve watched all 3 Twilight movies, discussed the benefits of Team Jacob versus Team Edward (I may have given my neutral stance away when I inadvertently referred to “that pack of dogs”. Oops.), drunk some lovely wine and bubbly, and eaten obscene amounts of junk food. Gillian makes The World’s Best Popcorn. Last week, she suggested we try to include at least one food item that has been grown. Wine comes from grapes, right? They grow…

So yeah, just checkin’ out the big smoke and the home of our future. We walked the entire Seawall (9 km, not counting the walk from False Creek to get there, with a stop at Hamburger Mary’s for breakfast sustenance to survive the journey) today and this traverse helped me to conclude (at about km 3), that my Pumas were indeed too small. I’ve long suffered with tight footwear, due to a lifetime of buying dance shoes and street shoes with the same fit: tight.

But now, the Pumas are in a garbage and I’m sporting my first pair of Fluevogs. The BBC boot in black, because I never buy black. Long have I coveted and long have I saved. Of course, I nearly didn’t get them, because after saving so long, actually dropping the cash seemed frivolous. It wasn’t: they look awesome and feel like it, too. Ooh.