I am a walking disaster. There really is no other way to put it. Even at however many tens of thousands of feet in the air I am as I write this, surrounded by strangers on my connecting flights to Mexico, I hide my head in shame — and not only because my appearance makes it blatantly obvious that I am working on about an hour of sleep. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, people.
The past several days (and weeks really) have been a whirlwind. Last weekend, I completed my 200-hour yoga teacher certification (woohoo!), a topic that I will certainly reflect more upon and write more about in the days/weeks ahead. In addition to all the “classroom” (really, yoga studio) requirements, there are a variety of additional elements to complete before receiving the final certification stamp of approval. One of these requirements: take 20 classes at the studio where I received my training.
How long did I have to take these 20 classes? Since I began the training the first weekend in February.
How many classes did I take last week to fulfill all 20 by the April 30 deadline? Nine.
NINE, people. Seriously??? Two classes on Monday … one on Tuesday … two on Wednesday … three on Thursday and finally, last but not least, one on Friday. Needless to say, this left me physically exhausted, very sore, and covered in bruises thanks to all the arm balancing poses. And you know what? I have no one to blame but myself for putting it off.
Taking procrastination to even more of an art form, I also put off packing for my vacation until 9 p.m. the evening before my 7 a.m. flight. For me, packing requires more than simply throwing clothes in my suitcase: I had to get everything ready for the cat sitter, take care of some laundry, tidy up the disastrous mess of my apartment, pay some bills (again, waiting until the last minute), file my quarterly taxes (ahem), wrap up some work. Next thing I knew, it was 3 a.m. and I could hardly move — and I wasn’t done with the packing.
I decided to take an hour nap, until 4 a.m. That would give me an hour to finish up and leave for the airport around 5 a.m. Perfect!
Next thing I know, it’s 6 a.m. I’m still in bed. Yes, I missed my flight. This was NOT the relaxing start to the vacation that I so desperately needed.
In my panic, I grabbed a shopping bag and just started dumping stuff into it – makeup, toiletries, jewelry, etc. All the books and magazines I meticulously planned to bring to enhance my relaxation? Still on the kitchen table. The random books and papers that I planned to leave at home? Those are with me. So much crap made it into the suitcase that my bag was overweight … I can’t even admit how much extra money I had to pay to change my flight and cover the bag fees.
Yay for a relaxing vacation. May this be the last of the nonsense! Please!
p.s. send xanax!