Where My Hip-Openers At?

I finally found a yoga class! And went to it, and it kicked my ass. In a good way. I am extremely sore today. It’s at a hotel above the lake in Kandy and in a lovely space which just happens to be a sort of large hallway enroute to a bunch of the hotel’s rooms. We yogaed intensively with random people walking through at times. The teacher, Janaka, focuses on backward-bending stuff, which is the bitter medicine I need. I do find myself yearning for Swarthmore Power Yoga, on squishy mats, breathing aggressively, with plentiful “hip-openers.” It just doesn’t feel like yoga without at least ten minutes of Pigeon poses.

Janaka introduced me to his [English] wife Billy, who apparently has been living in Sri Lanka fo-eva. They have two adorable kids. They make a great pair, in some literary sense; he has a lazy eye (like, really really lazy) and she has/had a cleft palate. She looks and sounds like Wendolene from “A Close Shave,” but pretty. What accent is that anyway? Aaron, you reading this?

They gave me a ride down to Kandy-town where I purchased, among other sundries, carrot-based “vegetable sausages.” They were pretty good with soup (what else? As predicted, I cook nothing but) for dinner. The sausage package didn’t have an ingredients list so I can only hope they weren’t meaty somewhere deep inside. Didn’t taste like it.

Am trying to plan Dad and Kathleen’s trip and I keep running up against the problem that living here and visiting here are really really different things. I have to figure out how to show them as much stuff as possible without making the whole trip a mad scramble from place to place. My instinct is to allow leisurely chillin’ but of course Kathleen isn’t much one for that. Mad scramble it is, then.

One thought about cockroaches: why do they bother me so much in the kitchen and not at all outside the house? I have now successfully removed two from the premises (though one hung around, yearning for my company, I think) and each time found myself horrified to discover them but totally indifferent once I had got them out the door. Pinker writes about the evolutionary usefulness of a stomach-turning response to grossness and I know what he means; it’s a revulsion I feel almost on a cellular level.
Why can't I write an internally coherent blog?