A yogi without a mat is a sad yogi.

For about a year now, I've carried my yoga mat around Manhattan. I bought a pink strap for it and was initially self-conscious. I felt like an effeminate Robin Hood of New York, but instead of a quill of arrows I carried a sweaty-smelling roll of foam padding.

Over time, carrying the mat has become commonplace. It makes for a convenient seat buffer on the bus and subway, and it's very lightweight.

So lightweight, apparently, that I managed to lose it this morning on the way to work. I had it on the bus, I'm sure of that. And then I transferred to the subway, and when I got off the train, I didn't have it. No idea what happened. I noticed its absence as soon as I stepped off the train, with enough time to poke my head back into the car but not long enough to actually board. I probably left it on the bus, though I can't think of a good explanation for how I could have left my huge back cushion on the seat without notice.

One of the karmic mysteries of the universe, I guess, but it's a bit of a bummer since I have class today.

p.s. On the plus side, bacon was mistakenly added to my breakfast sandwich. Doesn't quite balance out the bizarre, sudden loss of my trusty yoga mat, but I'll take what I can get.