The kids are on their way to camp....

And I am feeling heavy in the heart, too heavy hearted to teach my noon class (thank you to my friend, Maria, for taking it on today), too heavy hearted to do anything but lay in my bed and wait for sleep to come. My kids ARE my heart. It will be hard to adjust to not having them here with me every night, every morning. I am excited for them, yes, as excited as they are - and boy are they ever. They got on the bus without the slightest hesitation, barely giving me a hug goodbye, forget about a kiss. The windows of the bus were black, so I couldn't even see in. As the bus pulled away, I waved, but at nothing that I could see.

I might make it to practice this evening with Lori. I wonder if I will. And if I do, will I do dropbacks with her? My body aches from not having had enough sleep in the past week, having added eight poses since June 5 (!), working harder in backbends now that it is possible to do so thanks to the intervening eight poses. I never thought I would be saying this, but I feel like I've lost too much weight too quickly lately. My clothes are hanging off me today. It's not a bad problem to have, I realize. But I do feel kind of schlumpy in my once-favorite ice-blue shift dress that now won't stop sliding around, the straps falling off of my shoulders, the bodice pulling away from my almost-non-existent breasts, revealing the dents and scars. Even my undies are kind of loose and bunchy - not the Cosabella Soire low-rise thongs, but the Cosabella low-rise hot-pants. Wish I hadn't bought them. They're too obtrusive, and they want to be a thong, if you get my drift. The whole thing adds up to Not a good look. I should probably change into something more fetching.

I assume that I will feel less out of sorts after catching some zzzz's. And that as the days pass, I will realize that my kids are having fun and are well-taken-care-of.

I'm also operating on a bad-dream-hangover, I just remembered. Terrible dream actually. I dreamt that Adam's best friend's mother committed suicide - slit her own throat with a razor. I was horrified and felt in some way responsible for not seeing the signs and stopping her. In the dream, she and I were out at night with a group of people, and she was wasted, a was I. She said something about needing a razor, but I thought it was to shave her legs. She left me a phone message that I got when I came home, and it seemed somehow "off", but I couldn't place why or how. Then the next day, I phoned her back, and the message on the machine was something along the lines of, "Hi, this is Holly. If you're getting this message, then I am dead. I cut my throat with a razorblade. Sorry." I hung up, and immediately started wailing for her poor son, her only child, the child she adopted from Russia from a dark old orphanage when he was five months' old. The rest of the dream was a flurry of visits to the boy, with friends of their family, figuring out what would happen next for the boy, making arrangements. The boy seemed okay. He was the one who found his mother. And yet he seemed okay.

When I awoke, I had a sinking feeling. My stomach felt knotted. I wanted to not have dreamt something so sad, so morbid, so vividly so. And even now, the dream is haunting me. I think some fresh sleep might do the trick.

Let's hope...because I have some work to do! Packing up he place, for example. And writing up a plan for two workshops I have been asked to give at Aer Yoga in Bedford (or thereabouts). I met with the director yesterda, and it looks like we're going to do a two-day workshop, or two workshop on two different days, depending on how yo ook at it, teaching Ashtanga to his vinyasa students. One workshop will be aimed to the beginner. The other will be aimed toward more experienced students. It's a start. So, I look forward to it...or I will look forward to it soon...

YC