So I was laying on my yoga mat Tuesday, pressing my forehead into the ground, as is my wont, when it occurred to me that I have entered a new stage in my life.
The stage?
The stage wherein I successfully cage my inner monkey.
There we were, in the yoga studio. The temperature in the room is this side of “Bake”, the humidity just short of awakening the vestigial gills I’ve been holding on to for just such an occasion. Perspiration rolling off us, we are 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 are inches from each other, breathing deeply and rhythmically.
Breathe in.
Yessiree, Bob, there we are: 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 distracted, babbling thoughts. It’s too hot! Too hot! What’s the temperature in here? How much longer before I can lay down and play dead? Have I mentioned that it’s too hot?
Indulging my inner monkey is not why I go to yoga. She has to stop.
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 lyrics and the closing times of local fast food joints. I promise her that we’ll look for trophy-sized cigarette butts on the way home and watch Cops after my shower.
The monkey loves Cops.
Don’t get me wrong. The monkey keeps me entertained, says terrible and amusing 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.
And it was the monkey who suggested I turn off my iPod Monday morning and listen in on the disagreement between Pookie and Boo.
Frankly, Boo’s trippin’.
This is the same monkey, however, who makes obscene references during solemn moments and encourages me to eat uncooked cake batter. The same monkey who likes to inline skate drunk and quit my jobs.
She’s had a good run, that monkey.
Hey. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy her chattering. I’m not even saying that there isn’t room, now and then, for the way she stares at my fellow commuters.
I’m saying that sometimes, she gets in my way.
And so I’m harnessing my inner monkey.
I welcome this new stage.
22 comments:
just so you know, your inner monkey will make her full-on-out-there-OMG-did-i-just-say-that-out-loud appearance again in your senior years and it won't matter...according to a friend of mine! :) xoxoxo
Hari OM
Control is a wonderful buzz... and monkeys love buzz almost as much as bananas. Let her snack quietly in that back room... YAM xx
Savannah is right. I'm 73 & I don't give a damn when my monkey speaks out. It's that freeing up as you age thing I guess. Will be interested to see how you do with controlling yours.
New stages are fun. Maybe your inner monkey will grow to enjoy it too. :-D
Gadzooks! First a Chore Monkey. Now an Inner Monkey. I think maybe you're spending too much time watching the Animal Planet Channel, Pearl.
So what is your secret? My Inner Monkey is triumphant here. Often. Too often.
Fro Linda & Savannah--I'm 81 & my inner monkey is senile!!
As long as the monkey doesn't resort to poo flinging I feel fortunate.
It's not easy to get a grip on your inner monkey.....that little devil has caused some problems in my own life. I wish you luck Pearl. One incidence at a time.
Too bad you couldn't turn the Inner Monkey into a Chore Monkey. But the next best thing is getting the varmint by the scruff of the neck and making him listen.
Less fodder for blog posts, though. Boo.
You might want to stock up on bananas and peanuts to help keep that little monkey busy (and quiet). :)
Does that same monkey encourage you to pick your noses while sitting in a window seat on the bus, giving a show to those outside the zoo, I mean bus?
so we'll be hearing from the new and improved Pearl?
Don't tie that harness too tight, brain explosions aren't pretty.
What Linda and Savannah said! Love that inner monkey. Makes my senior years so much more fun.
Good luck. My experience with The Monkey has been other. As I age she becomes less discreet, and sometimes she is very loud. I suggest caution when trying to keep the lid on her. Explosions happen.
Chore monkeys have been around for generations. Mine is kind of an open secret around here. After all, as John, Paul, George, and Ringo so famously (albeit ungrammatically) wrote, everybody's got something to hide except...well...him and me.
https://youtu.be/MxFQrBKk6gE
My inner monkey is trying to escape. Very little keeps mine in control. The older you get, the less you care about doe doe birds.
Your inner monkey is the reason I cannot go to Yoga classes. I am the woman in gold sprinkles and I know everyone will be laughing at me, not in a kind way.
Why don't they have yoga clothes that do not show your rolls?
Did you know that monkeys like to ride donkeys, just saying
Mine is more like Curious George.
Good luck with that.
I have a monkey, too. It's really cute. I'll bet yours is, too. And also, I'll bet your monkey is so unique that it probably should not be harnessed for the good of all mankind. What would happen if Charlotte had been harnessed and couldn't write all those words that saved Wilbur? What would have happened if if Wilson had been harassed and couldn't keep Tom Hanks sane? What would have happened if Scientology had been harnessed and Tom Cruise never jumped on a couch for our amusement? I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I'm having fun. I love monkeys. LET YOUR MONKEY GO FREE. Okay, my monkey and I will be wanderin' off now. We'll be drinking two towns over if you need us.
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