Sick in more ways than one.

Today, I was sick. I am shaky all over, ache, have terrible congestion and have been sleep deprived. Today I took some cold medicine this morning and then again before ballet (this is the recommended dosage/frequency, don't worry). I semi-forgot about this fact when I bought an AMP energy drink (sugar free, but still sweeter than any candy I've ever had. How is this possible? Oh, that's right, it's made out of Splendacancer.) I also had a tea. A caffeinated tea.

You do the math, but don't tell me about it because the numbers are scary before I even know what they are. I had too much. There is too much fake stuff running marathons and doing back flips in my bloodstream. A heart attack should be just around the corner.

I'm not sure I've said one positive/healthy thing yet. However, if you are a dancer, you've probably been thinking this the whole time:

The amount of energy and power I had during ballet was amazing. I could jump and lift and turn and balance wonderfully.

I will be the first of us to admit-- this is a little sick. There should be no "Yes, but..." after the line "I'm probably going to have a heart attack." Right.

But...

When you love to dance, you have to accept that the relationship is unbalanced. It's like slaving away for someone-- all day every day-- on your hands and knees, working as hard as you can. You go up to this person at the end of the day and ask "What will you give me in return?" They reply, 

"I will allow you to live."

Oh, fantastic! I get to live! I get to pull my hair out over confusing combinations, give myself tendinitis and bruises, wear tight clothing, sweat, roll around on a dirty floor, leap fearlessly into the air knowing no net is there to catch me, get no sleep and then do all it again the next day!

I'll take it.

We all take it.

I accept these ridiculous things in order to truly make myself happy at the end of the day. And, hopefully, in the future, make others happy as well.  Movement, to ballet dancers, to modern dancers, to humans-- is life. Your heart beats. Your lungs fill. Your eyes open and close. Asking us why we would chose this life is like trying to explain why a kiss or a hug explains our emotions far better than words themselves. We just have to.

(again, I'm on cold medicine. If this makes no sense, I apologize and will realize it sooner or later ;) )

I need a Jiminy Cricket!

Ballet Journal #3

I'm pretty sure I would be something like a prima ballerina (yeah right, just kidding) if I had someone constantly whispering praises into my ear while I was dancing. I can't explain it. It's like I can instantly do whatever I need to do whenever someone tells me I can. It's lame! Why can't I be that encouraging person for myself?! That's stupid.

I still hate that bone in the ball of my foot. It grinds on the floor every time I try to balance.


I do know that if I stop psyching myself out before attempting to pirouette, I may actually be able to turn. Every time I think "Oh no, oh no, oh no ohnoohnoohno...I can't do it!" (or something along those lines). That needs to stop.