Breaking Up With Joe

We keep getting back together, me and Joe. We try to break up for good, but I always go back for more. It's just that he's so hot. So strong. So complex and bold. And he smells so damn good. I honestly can't help but love him.

But it's time. I know he's no good for me, and we need to let each other go. He messes with my mind. Makes me all nervous and jittery, an anxious wound-up wreck -- a state of being I often mistake for productivity, or more delusional yet, "creative energy".

He just doesn't bring out the best in me. Or maybe he does, sometimes, but overall I'm pretty sure our relationship makes me feel like shit. For starters, when we're really spending time together, I tend to lose a lot of sleep. Sometimes my stomach churns. And I get headaches. Headaches when we're together and migraines when we're apart. This can't be good. I mean, what does he really bring to my life? Besides stained teeth? He's my drug-in-a-mug, he is. And I must put an end to this vicious cycle. Or at least try.

It's so un-Italian of me to break up with Joe, a quintessential Italian delight. And I'm Italian, so people will talk. I can hear it now: "Whatsa mattah with a little espresso? Not even decaf?" they'll say. "Nope," I'll say, "Chai, I'm afraid."

But I'm ready. I'm ready to be that girl who orders Yerba freakin Mate while inhaling the intoxicating aromas of 76 varieties of organic fair trade blends from Peru to Timbuktu. I can handle it. It will take some time to grieve this loss, but I think I'll be okay. I've done the research and experimented with his absence long enough to know its worth it.

The most interesting piece of research I've stumbled upon on this subject is a pamphlet published in the 1920s entitled Evil Coffee is the Scourge of Modern Womanhood by a freakazoid doctor named Dr. Stockley who predicts "a state of complete mental and physical breakdown is almost inevitable" for women who drink coffee for most of their lives.

Of course, on some days I could imagine this happening in my future, with or without coffee. And I'm not putting too much stock in dear Dr. Stockley's "scientific" research, but his assertions, however absurd, do force me to think about the long term affects of pouring caffeinated acid into my intestines, day after day. (For the complete Evil Coffee article click here: http://www.utterpants.co.uk/fiction/evilcoffee2.html)

But this blog is about yoga. Connect coffee to yoga, quick. Um, well, the only connection I can come up with is this here vintage advertisement:

It appears that our friend here, perky Polly Pinup, is enjoying (ecstatically, I might add--I'll have what she's having) a variation of Pinchamayurasana. Saywhatchermindurasana? Ok, English, if you insist. Feathered Peacock pose, my friends. Granted her neck is gonna be all kinds of f'd up if she keeps it like that, but other than that, this looks a helluva lot like yoga to me. Maybe Mr.Lyon's had some Tantric enterprises up his... grinder? But don't follow Polly's lead, if you're looking to make like peacock, please consult this article from Jivamukti for instructions about the real pose: http://www.jivamuktiyoga.com/asana/p_mayur.html which looks more like this:

We'd probably all be a lot happier attempting this pose if we, like Polly, had coffee steam heating up our nether regions. But then again, that could cause a girl to loose her balance. Still, Polly does look like she's having a bit more fun, with Joe at her side. But then again, she is doing yoga al fresco, in her underwear, next to a hot cup of coffee, smiling devilishly, which does make me question her mental stability. Dr. Stokely may have been onto something.

All I know is that I don't need my Joe fix anymore . I don't need it driving me crazy. I can do that all on my own, thank you very little.

Keep in mind, I'm fully looking forward to my relapse, come holiday time, when nostalgia and cravings for comfort are strongest. I mean, Joe and I have a long history together and I'll need to check in and say hello once in a while. I'm just moving him to the back burner. The tea pot's got center stage for a while.