Jim Trainer

ME & BROTHER X

In Uncategorized on June 7, 2022 at 9:21 am

Meet up in Yoga. Go for juice after.
“That class was…somethin.”

Buys me a Paradise Found. It’s got pineapple, banana, mango, guayusa, blue majik (whatever that is), ginger and lime. It’s benefits listed are “energy, immunity, superfoods, anti-inflammatory.” It’s bright green and I drink it fast, in heaving gulps.

I tell him I want to die. That lying there in class I was thinking about pills, an opioid overdose. Seems like the easiest way to go but some people say if you want it easy then you don’t want to die. He can relate. He’s been there and probably will be again.

I tell him how isolated I am. That even at the studio, I’m misunderstood. Conversations are flip, full of “newage” and non-committal cliché. Brother X tells me that Austin is gone. I don’t disagree.
“Used to be you could go to Yoga every day of the week. Great classes and wall-to-wall. Mat to mat. Things were fucked up then, too, but I’d go back in a heartbeat.”
He goes on.

“Financial security is a huge concern for people our age.” Brother X is right. He goes on, telling me I need to get my living situation sorted. That there are all kinds of people all over the world just looking for someone to occupy their property. Keep an eye on things. Cut the grass. He asks me if I’ve ever been to Hawaii.

I told him I was there for a job offer in the fall but it didn’t pan out due to personal differences. That I wish I tried harder, or addressed them at all. Instead I just hit the road. Did 5 cities on a spoken-word tour, and fucked off the Fall. Ran out of unemployment and fell into the sunken place. I haven’t been able to shake it since.

“It gets better,” he assures me.
I reach out for his hand and he swats it away. Pulls me in for a hug.
“Tomorrow? 1:30.”
“Ok, Brother X. See you then.”

I feel clear and understood. Seen. I sleep well. The yoga worked. I wake up the next day and go to work. By the afternoon I’m back to thinking about ways to die. When I’m off shift, I lay down with the boy cat and he scratches the shit out of me. I put on my yoga blacks and go to class.

Thanks to Good Patrons I am back on the road.  I’m writing for them, praise be, because the socials are phony and they depress me.  Join a growing readership and for only $5 a month you’ll help me stay viable, independent of corporate interest and free from “look at me” loons. 

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