Deconstruction of a Breakdown
I let the neighbors watch.
There is cat puke on my yoga mat. I step over it. I’ll clean it up later. Maybe.
I don’t roll up the mat anymore. It’s been lying on the filthy floor for weeks. We step on it to open the closet door. In dirty shoes. Smelly feet smudging my zen.
Prayer hands.
I do my hot yoga in a cold room, on a dirty mat, praying for an hour of peace, of transcendence.
To transcend out of this room, out of this house, out of this mind. . .and just drift away. Anywhere.
I stand naked in the bathroom. I spray fake tanner slowly down my thighs, across my torso, swift circles on my breasts. I spray some in my palms to dab gently on my face.
Tan skin becomes a priority when nobody will see you.
Tree pose.
I stroll across the bedroom, my newly painted, moist skin drying with each step. The ceiling fan clicks with each rotation. My nipples notice the draft.
The blinds are open. Can the neighbors see me? Let them. Maybe they’ll wonder where I got my nice tan.
I remain naked, lost in my thoughts, staring at a white plastic bag dancing in a bush. The idea of being watched consumes me, arouses me.
