I Can Only Get Better

The feelings are still there. The heartbreak. The sadness. The worthlessness. The loss of will. The emptiness. The wonder why no one has noticed. The bruises are fairly apparent.

But I have one last thing I hold on to. Dance.

My escape.

I have been so overwhelmed lately. But on that floor it all disappears.

Last week I upped it to two classes a week–after clearance by Cherry, of course.

I am now doing contemporary and starting jazz.

The latter was not what I expected.

I showed up having messed up my foot the night before in my killer challenging routine. In my contemporary class, there are 3 of us. 2 professionals and me. Ya I hang. And when I think about it I must be damn good to hang with professionals in a new style of class. Just not what I used to be.

Anyways, one of my teammates teaches the jazz class and has been begging me to join. So I did. I showed up ghetto foot and all.

Turns out I was auditioning. The jazz class is a coverup for an underground burlesque dance team. I met some of the girls. They loved me. I loved the routine. I nailed it! I forgot how great I am at jazz!! Burlesque requires facials, performance, seduction. I have all of those. It felt so right.

I made the team. I am competing with an amazing group of ladies. Professionals. So. I guess this means something real. I am a professional. I am a real dancer again. I’ve got this. And I can only get better.

Right? I can only get better?


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