He reaches over and takes my hand. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he says suddenly and I feel the weight of the last couple of months lifting.
‘Me too,’ I say.
12
I stretch my hands out towards the long mirror covering the length of the wall, feeling everything else in my life melt away. The eviction notice for Fuddy-Duddies United, Lauren’s increasingly crazy eyes whenever I see her, and my multi-coloured bank statements – it all floats away.
I’m in my early morning yoga class and it’s totally wonderful. This is my – and I know this is a lame word but I’m going to use it anyway – sanctuary. I’ve been coming to yoga for the last couple of years, at least twice a week, and more when I have time. Which I don’t lately.
It’s like having a brain colonic, washing out all the nonsense and flushing the mess away, at least for the hour I’m in here. For that time I’m in the room, nothing really counts except my limited limbs and the sweat circling my face and down into my mouth, which, yes I know, is gross.
But it feels amazing.
Not that I’m good at it. I’m the most inflexible person who ever existed. Really, Will has to do all the work in the bedroom. But I’ve definitely seen improvements since I started. I feel taller and leaner and fitter. And so much clearer.
I reach into a downward dog, feeling my spine creak with happiness. Ooh, it’s good.
Around the room are several familiar faces moving into the regular poses, alongside the usual scattering of frightened-looking newbies, who look like they want to cry. I catch the eye of a lady who always comes to this Saturday class with her husband, and takes the same spot at the front. We’ve never actually spoken, but in my head they are the Wiggums fromThe Simpsons. They look exactly like Chief Clancy Wiggum and his wife Sarah Wiggum! Weirdly so. They even have a bit of a yellow glow in this dim lighting.
I consider again now how interesting it is when people date someone who looks just like them. I notice it happening more and more. My Facebook feed is full of them! Couples who are basically dating themselves, who fancy themselves. Because that’s what you’re saying when you date your clone – that you want to have sex with yourself. Isn’t that funny? I think it’s funny.
A few feet away, Chief Wiggum grunts loudly as the class changes position, and I try to redirect my focus back into my breathing. That’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s all about the breathing, they tell us over and over.
But two years of classes later, I can officially, unilaterally confirm: it’s fucking not.
Mate, breathing I can doany time, and much as I love yoga, I just can’t get into the hippy-trippy side of it. I’m here to sweat and repeatedly fail to reach my toes; I don’t want to hear about, I don’t know,monksor my soul or the universe.
But even though I’m impatient with breathing and struggle through every class, I still find this to be sooo much better than the gym. I have never been a gym person, it’s just not for me. There’s one attached to this yoga studio and I slink through it every week, back against the wall, feeling inadequate. There are just so many taut, veiny people shouting at each other about squat thrusts and leg days. It genuinely scares me. I tried going along a couple of times a few years ago and I just wandered around feeling lost and lonely. I ended up speed-walking on the treadmill for twenty minutes and then I left.
The yoga instructor talks us through our final posture and then makes us lie down in the dark, in the disturbingly named ‘dead body pose’. You’re meant to lie here totally still for ages to ‘centre’ or something. The guy leading the class always says this is the hardest position, which is obviously horseshit, but I get what he means; it’s because staying still is difficult for people like me, people who are always moving. The trouble is, if I lie still for more than thirty seconds I will...
Yep, I fell asleep and then immediately woke myself up with a loud snore. I try to loudly clear my throat to cover it, but everyone definitely heard. The almost-naked instructor comes over, wearing his Speedos. And by the way, it’s not even that hot in here, this isn’t Bikram yoga. He just wants to show off his body as he leans over, his bulge horrifyingly close to my face.
‘You OK there, Lilah?’ he says in what is meant to be a soothing whisper.
‘Yes,’ I squeak, getting the pitch totally wrong. Mr and Mrs Wiggum sigh across the room at me. I’m ruining their bliss. Oh no, I really hope they’ll still be able to breathe OK after this.
‘Just take deep, calming breaths there,’ he tells me and I smile tightly. ‘Let everything go. Lie still for at least another five minutes and then make sure you get a good night’s sleep tonight,OK?’
I nod, hating him. I should get some sleep, should I? Great to know, thanks so much.
I give him and his big lumpy penis a thumbs up and try to keep still.
The thing is, there’s just too much going on for stillness and bliss at the moment.
Lauren is full bridezilla now. She’s basically having a nervous breakdown but will scream at anyone who points it out. Then I had my brother on the phone this morning, asking to borrow more money. He says he needs to move, because now Mum and Dad have been around to his urban commune, the ‘vibe’ is ruined. He says he’ll give me his new address, but I’m not allowed to pass it on. And obviously I had to say no, because I’m utterly broke.
Things are hell at work too. Rex has started kicking off about theQuiz Monsters: Live Celebrity Special. He says all the celebs I’ve managed to line up for it are old news, and the whole thing has a been-there done-that feel to it. He wants me to come up with some extra element to make the format glitter a bit more. He told me I should stop relying on his ‘dazzling abs and teeth to pull in ratings’. Which is so irritating. As if handling a dozen celebrities – their schedules and their egos – in alivesetting isn’t exciting enough?
I tried brainstorming yesterday with Sam and Aslan, which went something like this:
Me: So, guys, any ideas on how we can take this celeb special to the next level? Give Rex something to thrill his Twitter followers?
Aslan: That’s a great outfit you’ve got on today, Lilah. You look fantastic.
Me: Um, thanks. So, ideas?
Aslan: I’m just saying, you’ve nailed your look.
