I came home and my roommate had cleaned up quite a bit. On top of my foam roller, which I keep in the living room, he had placed some printed instructions, "MULTIPLE USES OF BIOFOAM ROLLERS," with subtitles, "SELF MYOFASCIAL RELEASE TECHNIQUES," "GENERAL TECHNIQUE," etc.
Next to my door was my mail, a free CD sample, and a news article, "Inflammatory Statements Trip up 'Green Jobs' Adviser." I put it next to the news article he had given me that morning to read, "Firms Racing to End Texting and Driving."
I stumbled in to the bathroom, a little tipsy from one glass of wine. I was wearing a leotard, but only because I'd run out of clean underwear. "Dancing is a lifestyle" is something I say to people I meet like computer programmers who have no idea what I do. Apparently, a lifestyle in which I have collected a drawer full of leotards to wear when I run out of clean underwear.
There are things in my life which I question the meaning of. This drawer is not one of them.
I have fallen head over heals in love with the faults of those I admire.