never underestimate the power of wet socks

this morning i tried to rationalize sleeping in and not attending yoga with a thunderstorm. i could not justify anything as yoga occurs inside. al, my ipod (his name derives from unknown origins) is my best and most supportive friend. without him, i would perish in the obnoxiously loud teacher’s workroom. he is even a flashlight on dark, rocky mountain walks home. nothing sounds as wonderful as the perfect album. this rainy morning it was neutral milk hotel. then regina-rina spektor. now it is the new u2 singles album (reminiscent of bk’s superior divine intense u2 mixes). nothing feels as good as a fire you build yourself, warming the whole house and allaying the bitter cold punctuated by a lack of insulation. nothing tastes as good as homemade pizza, everything, even the sauce, made from scratch. nothing feels as good as being read to, rediscovering squirmy toes, inner child happiness, teary dr. seuss-inspired eyes when horton is put in a cage. nothing feels colder than wet socks, a soggy, all-encompassing cold that does not abate from shelter, heat or supposed warmth.