This entry makes little sense.
2003-09-18 | 9:52 p.m.

I feel less mad today than I did yesterday. Probably because no matter how bad I feel, my body feels worse. Dance today was brutal, but not in the social sense. I had my first day of my apprenticeship with the dance and drama head at a local high school.

In a word, she is fucking GOLDEN. She's one of those people who walks into a room and everyone's heads snap in her direction before she even has a chance to speak.

But dammit, she worked us hard. I haven't had to teach my tortured ballet piece to "Limp" yet but I showed her after class and she flipped right out. She thinks I am a dance genius.

That feels really nice to hear from somebody older than me. Especially because my parents think I'm a complete asshole and I can't figure out why.

I've never worked this hard in general in my whole fucking life. Every day I get up, I warm up, I give people rides to school, I clean the kitchen. I dance my little heart out, taking every minute detail I can into my head in case it could help my own students (shit, that still sounds so weird) in any way. I want to learn, and I want to teach. Dance has moved from being something I love to do to being something I HAVE to do. It's just in me. And I don't want it gone.

I can feel every vertebrae. I can feel blood in my socks. I can feel tension across my forehead from squinting in focus. My shoulders are tights and my abdomen screams with pain every time I flex backwards. But I NEED this. It's reassuring.

"This rotten world's gonna chew you up

Swallow you whole and then spit you back out

But as soon as you recognize this simple face

This rotten world gives you what you lack..."

Anyway, Tara (the chick I work under at the school) works her students into the ground. Our warmup was intense. I thought I could do push-ups. I was wrong. Dancers should not be doing pushups. She was a like a drill seargant, and she didn't even have to say anything, again. She's just so intense. I love it. The warmup was 20 minutes easily, followed by a fairly complicated hip hop routine the class has been working on. I didn't learn it, but I filled in some shaky spots with my own choreography, which I'll be teaching them tomorrow.

Oh yeah, I also get to teach them some belly dancing tomorrow. Except I'm scrapping my normal music for a Hot Hot Heat song, because I think that'll get them moving a little more quickly.

Ugh... I forgot how much I hate high school cafeterias. That school wears uniforms. I walk through the caf in a Who t-shirt and grey dance pants, and the girls all get whispery and the boys all make gross eyes just because I'm not wrapped up in the mu-mu that seems to be required.

For real though, it was like... Little Rock Arkansas bad. The girls (not the ones in my classes, but the ones in the cafeteria and halls) talked about me like I wasn't even there. That never happens. Not since that stupid internet rumour. Go read the article on Alex's miniscule junk for memories of that retarded little gem. But yeah, the girls would be like "Who is she?" right in front of my. THREE FEET AWAY FROM ME. If I wasn't so caffiene-deprived I probably would have said something. Tomorrow I will, for sure. I also got a few "What is she wearing?" in terms of the dance clothes (fuck off, what else would I be wearing?) and even a "Who does she think she is?" I don't know, somebody who's hungry and overworked and not in the mood for your commie bullshit?!

A good thing, though: a teacher came up to me because I wasn't in the uniform, asked me who I was, then smiled and said she really loved my tattoo. She proceeded to show me hers, and we had a little bonding moment there, and for a second I wasn't so intimidated. Yes, I'll admit it, I was a little intimidated today.

So, that's dance for you. I'm in a lot of pain but it's the only thing keeping me sane when my family life is presently crumbling. My dad is drinking too much. My mom is sad for the first time in as long as I can remember. My brother smiles a lot but at night he cries because my dad told him a story about a student with cerebral palsy that he watches over, who is only going to live until Christmas but is unbelievably happy because his dream in life was to go to high school. Oh, and I think my sister's on drugs. Plus she's a bitch.

I'm too tired to go into details. I'm sure people care even less about my sister's wicked mood swings than about my silly dance days. I feel like shit. I hope tomorrow comes soon.

-S

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