Even if I feel that I have nothing to write about, and I sit here for an hour in front of my computer, then I take a nap, then I come back, I think that I am still engaged in the process of writing.
I took a Bikram's Yoga class this morning because it’s been over a year and I remember that when I was doing Bikram's Yoga I didn’t feel puffy, and my knees didn’t hurt. Right now everything hurts and I guess if I don’t come up with $300 to buy 3 months worth of classes it will all be in vain. Just one day doing torture in a hot room. Not a consistent practice that can actually heal my body and shed the 20lbs I gained since I stopped. Why the hell is yoga in the US so expensive anyway? When I become a yoga teacher I’m going to offer free classes every Sunday or more if I can. By the way Bikram's Yoga is amazing, but since I’ve been practicing Ashtanga and Vinyasa for the last few years, I can do some really cool stuff. Clearly that is what’s important. (Unfortunately, I can no longer do Titsibasana, because I now have a big booty and it throws the balance off.) I’m planning on going back tomorrow, I have 10 days for $10 and I plan to do as many as I can before I figure out how to work something out with the studio owner.
Actually during my nap I had a dream about Bikram, or BK Bose of Niroga, I’m not sure who it was but the significance is the same, one currently my “teacher,” the other hopefully soon to be. But the dream was kind of disturbing and it will be interesting to see what significance it has in the next couple months as I await my opportunity to interview with Niroga for a scholarship to be in their yoga teacher training program.
Anyway, I was standing there in yoga class and everyone had just completed both sides of tree pose and were beginning to enter Savasana. But I had only done one side because I was standing there on one foot having an entire conversation with my sister, in my head.
Shortly after we all lay down, Bikram or BK or at this point I think it might have even been Deepak Chopra or maybe some other important figure I have yet to meet... called all of the students into another room. I laid there, not because I felt like being defiant but because I had for some reason decided that for whatever reason he had called all the students, I wasn’t going to get called for it. So I thought I would lie there and then go home when I was done. I eventually thought that I better get up so that I’m not mistaken for being disrespectful. So I get up and I see that he is waiting for me there in the next room sitting behind a big wooden desk, as if sitting before a classroom. He is wearing a stripped multicolored dress shirt, circular glasses and his black wavy hair is streaked with gray.
As I get up to walk over I feel extremely tired and I’m trying to get the sleep out of my eyes, but I can barely keep them open. I sit in a chair perpendicular to him and open my eyes wide. I’m sure this looks unnatural, but I don’t want him to think I’m falling asleep while he’s talking.
He hands me a paper and I realize that it’s a test I took some days ago and I’m excited because I know I aced it. When he hands it back to me I see a 19 and a 23, I’m a little disappointed but I’m thinking 19 out of 23 isn’t that bad.
Then he says, “No, it’s 9 out of 423.”
My mouth drops open and I ask how that can be. He shows me my bubble sheet and points out that I skipped a bubble in the beginning of the test and so all of my subsequent answers, although correct, came up as wrong because the were marked in the wrong place, one off. (This is typical grade school nightmare. Raise your hand if it’s happened to you!)
He says, “Well I meant to remind you all to be careful about this at the beginning of the test. It’s too bad because it was actually very good.”
I say, “So, you’re still going to count them all as wrong?” He says yes, and puts the paper down in front of me. I am pissed, and I’m trying to think of the appropriate thing to say. I’m thinking I will likely fail this class because of this. I’ve never failed any class, and he knows this because I am one of the top students. He is watching me closely as I stare down at my paper.
I pick up the paper, “Okay, thank you,” I say and I turn around and leave without looking back. I’m thinking I’ll go to the dean. How many tests will there be in this class anyway? I hate him in that moment. I think that he is cold and uncompassionate. I feel all of the injustices that I’ve ever been faced with all well up inside my heart and my chest. I feel helpless and I feel as if I’ve been cast aside, rejected. And most of all I hate that it’s actually my own fault.
