The Stars Weren't Aligned, I Swear.

Sunday February 6th: Superbowl Sunday, also known locally as the day I promised myself (and my four followers) that I would try yoga for the first time.  I thought it would be a great thing to try after all the excitement that is the Superbowl commercials.  Er, I mean, the game.  Really.  I actually care about football.  Yoga is supposed to be relaxing and all that jazz, so it seemed a novel idea to wind down after 12 brownies, 4 cupcakes, half a bag of Chex Mix, and a seventh Superbowl victory for the best football team ever.  I was finally ready, and I was excited to keep my promise for once.

Steelers shirt donned, I took a seat in front of my friend's television to watch my team kick some Cheesehead butt.  Turnover after turnover I watch my "unstoppable" team get beat down.  Three hours later, the biggest game of the year comes to a tragic ending worthy of a Shakespearean drama.  No longer so excited, I return home from the party a pathetic, lifeless creature.  "Maybe the stars weren't aligned properly," I mourned to myself as I trudged upstairs to my room.  I lay down on my bed and stared dejectedly at my ceiling, rendered immobile for at least a half hour in a deep state of depression.  Once I finally felt capable of standing, I showered and went immediately to bed.  So much for yoga.  It's beginning to look hopeless.. Stupid stars.