It's hot. Oppressively hot. Until now, Mysore had been the coolest place I'd been in the past two and a half months. Sure, it was 30 Celsius, but with only 30% humidity it sure beat Bangkok and Bali which were both at least 35 Celsius and about 90% humidity. Cole Porter knew what he was talking about when he wrote "It's too darn hot." I wanted to go downtown today, get lost in the market taking photos (and hopefully not have to make a scene this time, berating a man for stalking and grabbing me), get some clothes made, browse the fabrics at Rashinkar to see what other glorious, cheap things I can have made (curtains? Throw pillowcases?) and maybe pick up a salwar kameez that somehow has the flare to smoothly make the transition from pragmatic dress in India to fashion statement in Canada. But alas, here I sit, in my room, fan blaring, getting lost in yet another Carol Shields novel, listening to Sarah Harmer, stretching my sore hip flexors (what did it this time? Navasana? Tittibasana after bhujapidasana and supta kurmasana?) while simultaneously attempting to organize all the different options I could choose for my life in the coming year. Nothing is clear.

Stay in Montreal or move to Toronto? All the good jobs are in Toronto, jobs I would love to have (e.g. internship at Toronto Life Magazine), but I'm still so in love with Montreal. My friends, my apartment, independent cafes that make the best café allongé, my yoga studio, baguettes from Premiere Moisson and the florist down the street where I buy my weekly $5 bouquets, overflowing with dahlias in August, tulips in April, painted red with Poinsettias in December. But the jobs are in Toronto, and as sad as it is, it's time to think about pragmatism, about being able to afford grad school tuition for an American school. I think this means I’m supposed to be an adult now. Stop going to parties and start talking about life insurance policies, funeral planning and meetings with the accountant! Geez, this all happened so suddenly...real life, hmph.

Life here is treating me well though. I've been playing the role of the bad yogi, staying out 'late' (i.e. after 10 pm), drinking wine and beer, eating chocolate (70% Lindt, God bless Nilgiri's, our grocery store) and banana crepes, oh, life is good! Social engagements have been keeping me busy: dinners out with friends, potlucks, goodbye parties. And yesterday I spent more time at the orphanage, being swarmed by children who stick their gold bindis on my head, chatting with the teenage girls and being patted affectionately on the head, back and bum by the older women (Aunties) who look after the children.

Practice has been lovely for the past two mornings. Twice Sharath has deemed my supta kurmasana to be "very good," and today I was given garba pindasana and now the bruises above my elbows are blossoming.

Tonight, after dinner with friends at Green Leaf, I will be content to come home, drink tea, and watch a stupid move on TV until I crawl into bed with my book, at the late hour (for a yogi!) of 10, and then hopefully sleep well for what would be the first time in days. For now I think I'll continue to confuse myself by trying to decide my future by way of total and utter complacency: laying on my bed, reading my book, listening to some tunes and trying to ignore my racing thoughts.

- posted by Andrea @ 5:41 a.m.