X challenged me to try one of the yoga routines that she's into, by Tara Stiles. When I do yoga, I do the first two sun salutations as taught by David Swenson, which can be hard some times, but doing Tara Stiles' core strength yoga was excruciating! X couldn't possibly hold all of her laughter in as she watched me writhe and try to control my body while doing ten minutes of that stuff.

For example, imagine me trying to copy this:

I became a panting pile while trying to do that (after a few repetitions, mind you).

Alright, doing this one killed me too:

That does it. I'm going to start doing yoga more, until X stops laughing (if that's possible) when I perform. Until then, I'll just use X's laughter at my poor attempts as motivation to get better.

While doing yoga, a very calm and fairly quiet Blixa stepped about the house. Earlier in the evening we'd taken her to Bagarmossens Djursjukhus to give her a shot. She didn't even squeak at the vet, but rather slowly lounged around, smelling everything. At one point though, she suddenly looked so small and scared, and pulled herself into a little ball and slowly crawled into X's arms. It was as though Blix almost had whispered "Mommy, care for me!". ((Anthropomorphisation is me.)) It's always scary and fascinating to see the hole in Blixa's skin where the needle has entered. And we learned that Blixa's of perfect weight.

Ending the night next to X is a perfect sedative, when it's time to sleep. Reminds me a lot of driving through Oklahoma where Bobby commanded the steering wheel, sitting next to Malin, while X's head fell onto my right shoulder. The road was endless, and spears of neon leaned into where we'd go, darkness enveloping the night as though a billion black bats silently circled us through a dense forest of calm and love and I felt indescribably safe. That's the feeling I get when X goes to sleep and I'm left, letting go of what's holding me awake.