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.
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?