I got a black eye in yoga class. I kind of like it. Jeff says it's not bona fide, but I know I earned every busted capillary. I feel like a boxer. Maybe it's the hat. I know yoga is not meant to be a contact sport. Nobody hit me. I hit my eye on the floor. It was kind of like a tripod eyestand. The great news is that I balanced in flying pigeon for a few seconds. I was so thrilled that when I started to fall forward like a giant oak tree, I completely forgot that I could just put my knees down and stop myself. Oh dear, what will this do to my modeling career?
My beloved and talented upstairs neighbor, John Quilty, took the above photo. He rocks.
I'm glad I fell on my face. The ten seconds before that were real progress. And now I know I won't die in Flying Pigeon. If only I could master the somersault.