Last week I learned to play "Walkin After Midnight" on my keyboard and my nails are painted lavender, so come on over. I made some tabouleh from a box. I don't know if the tomatoes were ripe enough, but life is short and I'm impatient. I fell out of a headstand in yoga class for the first time ever on Thursday night, and felt like a failure, even though that is not something you should ever have to feel in yoga. That is, maybe, the whole point of going to yoga. To stop rating every single thing as a success/failure.
Lily and I were talking about how everyone brings their own personality and tics to yoga. If you are an obsessive person, you will be obsessive about yoga. Perfectionists are (cough) perfectionists when it comes to yoga. If you are an energy vampire in life and you go to yoga, you will still be an energy vampire. You will just be an energy vampire who can do halasana.
Lily and I went to see Inception and in Union Square I asked her about how many poems she thought she would get out of what we just saw, and at the same time I said, "Six?," she said, "Six or seven." Let's all write a poem called "Architect of Dreams," and send it to Ellen Page.