Wednesday, October 19, 2011

My yoga teacher quit teaching the class I take.

She took a new full time job at a fancy westside club.

I hate the new teacher.

I suppose the teacher is fine enough, but I hate the class and the way it is going now. 

Nope, I hate the teacher. 

Something about her just pisses me off.

I mean I was already pissed off when I discovered that the old teacher was gone for good, after straggling along with substitutes all summer. 
Lame substitutes, like that skinny, newagey one with the super straight hair, and the bouncy one with the baby voice. 
The babytalker wasn't too bad when she was silent, but each time she gave directions I just felt like punching her in the face. 
The skeletal, unnaturally, straight-haired one, just seemed not to care, she was doing her own thing, students be damned, so her, I could relate to, or at least respect the bravado, the other one was too earnest and chipper for my taste.

This new one is just young and self righteous, and lacks the moxie  to  really pull it off.  She gives terrible directions and her pacing is way off. 
She's got no rhythm.

I too lack rhythm and flow, and that is exactly why I go to a class. 

If I wanted to fumble around and stop and start, I would stay at home and do it in my living-room.

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