Sun goes up. Sun goes down.

On the way home today I popped over to The Yoga Space to confirm they had reopened on the fifteenth. The sign on the door now says the fifth, which means I've missed two sessions already. More annoying for the fact that I've been slacking off recently because I think my rusty technique may be doing more harm than good. (Not that it was shiny to start with, but it wasn't causing pain either.)

Emily is back to her leapiest: clearing tables, activating keyboard shortcuts, and attempting to trap herself behind the louvres. Look, her tongue is sticking out, only you can't look because her image has not been recorded in an electronic medium. Maybe one day. In the mean time you will just have to trust me. If it weren't for the patches of recently shaved fur you would never know the universe had been threatened. Now she is sitting on my lap and pressing her claws into my thigh. She has the brain of a cat.

I saw Lantana. It is a good movie. You just want to cry. But you don't. (Not even when you get in the car and Dianah Ah Naid sings Perfect Family all the way home.)  ¶ 22:17