So I was laying on my yoga mat the other day, pressing my forehead into the ground, as is my wont, when it occurred to me that I had entered a new stage in my life.
The stage?
The stage wherein I successfully cage my inner monkey.
There we were, perspiration rolling off us, contemplating the next move (“you will plant your hands on your mat, shoulder-width apart, tuck your knees up into your armpits and simply lift yourself off the ground”). We were inches from each other, breathing deeply and rhythmically.
The temperature in the room was this side of a hundred degrees, the humidity just short of awakening the vestigial gills I’ve been holding on to for just such an occasion.
Yessiree, Bob, there I was: just me and 49 of my favorite people (between the hours of 5:30 and 6:30 p.m.).
And it wasn’t long ago that my brain would’ve chosen this very moment to ricochet with panicked, chattering thoughts. It’s too hot! Is that guy looking at me? It’s too hot! What’s the temperature in here? How much longer before I can lay down and play dead? Have I mentioned to myself that it’s too hot?
But indulging my inner monkey is not why I go to yoga.
The monkey casts a sideways glance at the tepid moat of sweat surrounding the mat of the man eight inches to my right and begins to work on the comment that will keep me from concentrating. I successfully fight her back into the same corner of my mind where I keep Metallica songs and the closing times of local fast food joints. I promise her that we’ll look for cigarette butts on the way home (I may have quit, but she doesn’t know that) and watch Cops afterward.
The monkey loves Cops.
There are advantages, I think, to choosing where and how you’ll let your monkey run free.
The bus, for example, is the perfect place for monkey thoughts.
Don’t get me wrong. The monkey keeps me entertained, says terrible things I cannot repeat about the woman in the gold Spandex and the odds of finding loose change in the folds that make up much of her topography.
The monkey was the one who suggested I turn off my iPod Wednesday morning and listen in on the fight between Pookie and Boo.
Frankly, Boo’s trippin’.
The monkey also, however, makes obscene references during solemn moments and encourages me to eat uncooked cake batter. The monkey likes to inline skate drunk and quit my jobs.
The monkey has way more friends than I do.
And way more enemies.
She had a good run, that monkey.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that there isn’t room, now and then, for her chattering.
I’m just not buying her bananas anymore.
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43 comments:
It's sad when we have to keep the monkey locked up.
Hey Pearl! Hmmm... "The monkey also, however, makes obscene references during solemn moments and encourages me to eat uncooked cake batter." Sounds like a party animal. I shall campaign for her immediate release. Even if you are upside down at the time. Indigo x
Monkeys matter and they can get into the deep receeses of our mind. Sometimes we realise that we need to keep the monkeys off our back.
Well written, Pearl.
Delores, I still let her out at parties.
Indigo! Was just at your place! How lovely. I'll have a talk with the monkey. She thinks the world of you, you know. Says to say "hi" to Miranda. :-)
Don't keep that monkey caged too much of the time, and remember, they like peanuts, too!
a sad day indeed when the monkey gets caged.
Is that the monkey that makes me sing unauthorized revised lyrics to Oldies?
Ah yes the monkey within us all. Without monkey we'd all be as drab and dull as that dour couple in the painting, "American Gothic". Yeah most of the time we keep the little fellow on a short leash but every now and then ... well that's usually the time we end up with the police at our door asking us some pretty strange questions.
This was hilarious Pearl. I think I like that monkey of yours. Everyone needs a pet like that inside of themselves.
Noooooooo! Free the monkey! Free the monkey!
You should free that monkey more often.
Some people don't have an inner monkey. Some people ARE the monkey. I like to avoid them.
Real monkeys, now, they're cute. Little devils sometimes, but cute.
Are your legs worn to little stubs from your Friday gig? Was it worth it, though?
"The bus, for example, is the perfect place for monkey thoughts."
EXCELLENT.
Inner monkeys rule! Especially their smart-aleck remarks. Gotta keep 'em in check, tho' ;)
:D Mine has quite the mouth. She swears a lot.
The monkey and yoga make a good combination.
I kept the monkey pretty well locked up till I hit about age 40. Then I figured, "What the hell" and set her free. I couldn't help but notice my blood pressure immediately went WAY down, while that of those around me spiked dangerously.
I'm sure it's just a coincidence...
Ah ! The monkey within ! While I was looking for a jackass ! ;)
Uncooked cake batter? I thought that was one of the four food groups...
I'm coming down on your side...monkeys need SOME kind of restraint!
Thanks for visiting my corner of the blog world!
"To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven"
A time to let the inner
jackass and monkey play;
A time to sing them lullabies
A time to let them lay.
But when you are laying on a yoga mat in 100 degree heat and in danger of drowning from your neighbours' sweat...any sane monkey would want to escape!
Take care and mind it doesn't send YOU bananas
I think I have 12 monkeys inside me. They all perform specific various and sundry ridiculous functions, for which I'm eternally proud. Come on, girl's gotta have a coupla monkeys in her closet.
It's all about balance, isn't it? Balance on the yoga mat, balance the amount of monkey freedom we allow, balance our diets... I prefer cookie dough over cake batter, btw.
"...the odds of finding loose change in the folds that make up much of her topography."
Egads!!!! This made me physically cringe.
Ha! My monkey's still a smoker too! She makes me stand really close to smokers in lifts and queues, just so I can enjoy the smell.
She'll get me in trouble yet....
Sorry, but I've lived in a house full of men way too long. When I read the part about how you got into that yoga position,all that my mind could see was an ass sticking up in the air.... All I could think about was who would fart, or how would you hold one in if you had to......
Your yoga instructor (yogi? or is that just a big bear with a funny hat; yogini? no I think that is a student, whatever) would be proud! Keep the monkey in line but be sure let it out occasionally to write blogs to help the rest of us jackasses find a reason to smile. (Jackass smiles are really, big and doofus looking).
I loved this post, but I am a little confused. Is "the inner monkey" the name of a yoga pose?
It must be hell controlling the inner monkey at Yoga class. Difficult enough controlling the inner flatulence.
FREE THE MONKEY!!!!!!!!
My monkey is nocturnal. Around 3:00 a.m. she's wide away and berating me for everything I neglected to do that day and adding it all to her list for tomorrow, next week, next month, while working on the furniture scheme for my move to the tiny new house. Then she wonders why I'm to tired during the day to get all her chores done.
My monkey can only be quieted with drugs.
So that's what it is! I've always wondered what it is that whispers rude things to me about others when I am in exercise class. She also tells me she wants a lot of chocolate.
my monkey's always been loose - oh, gee, perhaps i mean free -
Yay the monkey. It/they keep me sane(ish). And, I do believe, writes many of your posts. Reward that monkey. PS (harnessing - or was the monkey assing around).
My monkey (I call him 'George') makes me buy terrible 80's comedies on DVD, insists on the term "album" when I clearly mean "CD", and hurls verbal feces at innocent bystanders who wear plaid. My monkey is terrible, resentful beastie who can only be calmed with copious amounts of light beer and the vocal stylings of Neal Sedaka.
Monkey see, monkey don't.
She's a canny monkey, that naughty vixen. I think she's fooling you--and, yes, she has been trained--and will spring up, waving fresh bananas, one day when you're all tangled up in Eagle Pose. Before you know it, you'll be contemplating braiding beads into the armpit hair of the guy on the mat next to you.
Monkey may be caged, but she ain't retired.
"The monkey keeps me entertained, says terrible things I cannot repeat about the woman in the gold Spandex and the odds of finding loose change in the folds that make up much of her topography."
Is there a woman in gold Spandex in every major city in the U.S.? My monkey thinks the odds of finding not only loose change but also rolls of quarters in our lady's folds are great.
You're funny.
Hey Pearl! Bless her, she's very thoughtful. But that monkey needs a name, not just a species. Though of course, Monkey is a good name in itself. Very mythical, you know. And by the way, where are my peanuts? Indigo x
Well there goes the youth from another one. So when is the next grandkid coming along?
Obscene comments during solemn moments...is that my monkey? I was wondering what's up with that. It's been bad recently.
Phrases such as, " the humidity just short of awakening the vestigial gills I’ve been holding on to for just such an occasion" are what keep me comin' back here.
Some days my inner monkey is the only thing between me and a padded cell.
Be careful, eventually the monkey will take over and buy it's own bananas! When that happens, it will be taking over your blog also...
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