Medicontemplate

I dread meditation. I really do. I've read hundreds of pages about it and I still dread the word. Notwithstanding the fact that I practice it on a semi-regular basis - usually in the mornings (because the elders tell me it's easier to do it then), it's just too mainstream for me to feel cool about it.
I prefer not to think about it because I fear that I will mess up a tradition that sounds an awful lot like the word "medication".

Have you taken your meditation today, Mr. Ghoule?
No, I'm afraid not.
Oh? Why not?
My back hurts like mad, goddamn you, and all these chairs are made for either older or shorter people.
Just follow your breath!
Yeah, but my diaphragm is weak because of all the -cold substances- that were drawn in by it and my throat is sore from all the anti-meditative states I find myself in and, furthermore, the echoing voices I constantly cannot ignore do not care about what I see; they only care about what I feel.
Just let the breath flow naturally.
-_- 

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I can't believe people get paid to instruct people how to breathe.

Souvenirs day of it

I walked - that's a given.
J'ai marché - c'est sûr et certain.

J'ai trouvé un évènement dans le magazine NOW: une marche guidée à Toronto pour se rappeler du "Women's Mounted Land Army, 1919". J'ai découvert que cette marche se passait dans mon coin, et, en 15 minutes (ou moins), j'ai décidé de m'y rendre tout habillé en mode hiver et... rien.

Personne. Well, there were people, and it seemed like a walker might have been there for said event, but she continued on her way. There was a backpacker, with patchouli backpacks and a movable plus-sized basket, but he continued along the way.

Je ne regrettes pas m'y être rendu car la neige était follement douce, et marcher comme un pinguin m'a fait du bien.