Tonight I found out that my soon-to-be ex-husband is dating my not-so-former yoga teacher.  Really?  Of all of the people to pick to date, he picks someone I know. Someone who has touched my body, has coached my body, has waxed eloquent about enlightment. Really?  Yoga was always my practice – the one hour in a day when my brain would finally stop running and my soul would find some reprieve.  This new coupling pisses me off.  I cannot, in this minute, find any lofty conclusion or justification here.  So I depart.


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