Dance is HARD, y’all…

I think my dance teacher is secretly trying to kill me. Today my reel Wasn’t Happening. The ankle of doom had spoken and it said, “I don’t think so!” So I didn’t. So dear sweet teacher was all, “Oh I have exercises for you!” So I was all, “Sure! As long as my ankle doesn’t hurt.” Now I can’t decide which hurts the most. Put through the ringer as they say… However, he’s now kind of on my ass about form and stuff so yay for that. I’ll get it eventually. Wee!!! So, good class but it would have been BETTER if my ankle didn’t hurt like hell… So I’ll try get that taken care of in the next couple of weeks. 

Want pea soup now though. 

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Fucked up conversations

Me: I just had the worst joke thought ever. Han Solo Dress. There needs to be a Wookie.

Friend: You’ve gone over the edge.

Me: *gigglesnort* Lack of caffeine in my life. And mania. Fuck this thyroid shit. Maybe I should take my pills.

Friend: Huh? Mania fuck this thyroid shit?

Me: It’d be cool. I’d move up so fast because everyone would be all, “Let the Wookie win!”

Me: Part of this thyroid being attacked by my immune system thing is mania. Also I’m blogging this.

Here’s what I love….

Things I hear from people in my other hobby:

“You haven’t been out in so long!”

“Why don’t you come out more?”

“We’ve missed you!”

“What will make you keep coming out?”

Here’s the thing. Dancing makes me feel empowered, if even for a few minutes. I don’t get that empowerment in that hobby. I feel lonely and forgotten. I feel low. Even though some people within dance do freak me out on the anxiety meter, there are some people that make me feel wanted and loved. No one really makes me feel that way in my other hobby. Should I talk to someone about it? I’ve tried. What I’ve heard is “Change or GTFO.” Okay. Nevermind. Here’s what Saturday did for me. Saturday provided me a chance to prove myself to myself. Sound strange? It might be, but when you live in a state of almost constant fear, getting up on a stage and being judged in front of tons of people that might end up being great friends with you or hate you, it can psych you out. In any case, I’ve been met with nothing but positive reactions to performing and competing. Alot of it is from other adults that are impressed with my daring. I’ve had a few kids be excited that I’m dancing. Those kids are awesome. I love those kids. Sitting around at the ceili afterwards was sort of surreal. I was watching everyone from my little spot by myself and actually loving what I was doing right then. I loved me. I loved those people. How rare it is for me to love myself! So I enjoyed that feeling alot.

I have four gold medals, bitches! I’m a leaf on the wind! I’m defying gravity! Watch how I soar!

Post-feis report

It went better than expected for me. I got first. Duh. I’m already tired of competing and being the only one. Anyway at the ceili I was just watching everyone and I realized how happy I am with these people. The kids are so awesome. Really. The parents are so amazing. The teachers are amazing!! I haven’t been quite so stress free in a while. Years actually. In less than two years I’ve met people I wouldn’t hesitate to call if my car battery died or something. Know how long it took me in my other hobby to find people like that outside of my hometown? Years! Many! I wish I’d done this sooner but then we wouldn’t be where we are now. I want to be all gooshy and show my appreciation of this school’s mere existence but I don’t know how to do it with words or booze or anything without sounding weird and creepy. I’m so thankful. ;_;

I enjoyed being where I was at the feis as far as my job was concerned. Fucking loved it! Hard work but rewarding. However I do feel bad. My body just wouldn’t let me continue and be more help.

In any case… OMG! Awesome!

I’m trying to distract myself…

So far I’ve managed to distract myself from this upcoming feis. This one is especially important because everyone I know in the Irish dance community is watching me. Maybe. I mean. We’re working the feis but really some of them will be there. However, I’ve been hit full force in the face with the fact that the feis is this weekend. Like. Tomorrow. I’m going to go and help set up. Guess what? I haven’t practiced… Because I’m afraid I’ll get too sore to actually compete. Catch 22. In any case, I’m kind of excited to be working with these amazing people. Honestly. =)

I didn’t finish this post for like a whole day. I’m afraid. Very afraid. D=

So…

I just saw my name in the facsimile program for the feis. I saw my name there next to my school name. SHIT JUST GOT REAL, YA’LL!!

Also: Nefee is hilarious. ❤

I feel awful…

Today was bipolar day in dance class. I blew my instructor’s mind. I was fucking awesome during those moments I was able to concentrate. Taking two weeks off of dancing essentially, my mind was a little befuddled… HOWEVER I also forgot to take my Xanax and there wasn’t any in the fucking car!!! I LOOKED!! So when we started our warm ups, I couldn’t get the skips down. I’ve been doing skips for ten fucking years. Why oh WHY could I not do them tonight? Oh right. because I’m trying to keep my brain from freaking the fuck right on out. The night just gets better. At one point, I’m not getting the timing on my reel down… So my dear wonderful teacher turns the music up… This does not help matters. In fact, it makes them worse. Please don’t do this, dear wonderful teacher. I had a full on panic attack IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS!!! I can’t focus on the fact that I had such amazing skillz that I kept being praised in class, then after class, and then he texted me. No no. That is not how my piece of shit fucked up brain works. My joints hurt again. Ugh. I’ll ice them again… Anyway! I suck and I’m beating myself up over the fact that I broke down in class… 

Tights: The Saga

I found out that Torrid doesn’t sell tights that fit me. They’re either too small or fit in a really funky way. So I went on a search for tights. I struck out at Lane Bryant, Stein Mart, and Dillard’s. What the actual fuck people. Why can’t fat people find tights? Is it one of those articles of clothing that fat people aren’t allowed to wear? But on that note, why the fuck are there spandex type pants, that fit skin tight, yet people fucking bitch when fat people wear them? I have a complex y’all. I wear compression pants under regular loose workout/yoga pants. Yes, that’s right. Two pairs of pants. I also wear two shirts. And two bras. Seriously. This is majorly fucked up. I’m just really rather irritated with the whole thing. Maybe I’ll hit up Sears or something tomorrow but for now? I’m just angry at the world and people fucking suck and I hate people. 

 

On an unrelated note, I had a nice cordial conversation with my sister’s husband. That was really nice. Maybe we’re getting somewhere. ;_; 

I’m about to embarrass myself

Or at least I will when and if the people this is about ever find it. To be fair, they probably shouldn’t get mad. My instructors are two amazing dudes. Both have gone to Worlds and (so far) they’ve been awesomely patient and nice. I don’t know if it’s the typical teacher front but they do treat me differently from Jaba Hutt whom everyone hates. I especially get to hate her because she interrupted my talk about my sister’s death with how horrible her drive was. Anyway, they’re helpful and managed to work Peter into a private lesson today. Since I started dancing I’ve had a lot less stress though I still struggle mightily with my anxiety. Mostly? I’m afraid I’m being judged for my weight. D=