I was all set to blog last night about these old hags who busted in to yoga late and were throwing their shit all over the floor and making a ton of noise (at least that's what it sounded like. I couldn't tell for sure as I had my eyes closed and was trying to center myself and regulate my breathing).
Then they decided they needed to turn the fan on high and move it so it blew directly on me. And I totally got up and stalked over there (I didn't realize I was walking angrily, I swear) and unplugged it when it came time for savasana because at that point even my nose was cold to the touch. Seriously, I was freezing despite working my ass off. Of course, the fan being off made it much easier to hear one of those old twats with her dog-bark cough. You know that way dogs bark kind of quietly and it sounds as though they're doing it with their mouths closed? She was coughing like that.
Oh, and I probably would have mentioned the girl who has taken my usual spot on the floor the last two weeks in a row. She's obviously good at the yoga; she doesn't even know which mats are yoga mats and which are the general exercise mats. Why am I such a creature of habit that if someone is in my usual spot on the floor it completely fucks up my routine? Christ, I really need to loosen up a bit.
Even as I really really tried to seal my practice with hands to the head, for peaceful thoughts; hands to the mouth, for peaceful words; and hands to the heart, for peaceful actions, I was fuming.
So, I was coming home to blog about it. Eventually. Oh, but Karma had different ideas. I pulled up in front of the house and went to put my car into park. But it wouldn't go. Okay, momentary panic. I'm sure I can just put the parking brake on and leave the car in neutral and worry about it later. As it turns out, with my car you can only take the key out if it is in park. Dad's not home to offer me any ideas (Mom: "He's at church. You can try his cell." Dude, I'm NOT calling him at church!), so I whip out the trusty AAA card and sit on the steps watching my car to make sure no punks come by and steal it.
Dad did call; he was confounded by my problem. So was the tow truck driver. He did manage to get the car into park, but the key still wouldn't turn all the way back and release. Nothing to do but take it in. An hour later, I find out that one of my theories as to the nature of the problem was correct. Something was caught in the shifter.
So, $90 and a forgotten iPod (the bus kinda blows with no music) later, everything's cool (except I'll be closer to broke for the next week) and I realize that there are far worse things than annoying people at yoga class. Thanks for the lesson Karma. I needed it.