true story about dancing

I once enrolled in
ballroom dancing classes. That
did not last so long.

+++

True story.

Years ago, at an Arthur Murray dance studio, because I met a guy in a bar who was a teacher there and he offered me some free lessons.

I can’t for the life of me remember his name now, all these years later, but he was tall, blond, and gay. I think it was Casey.

I loved moving my body and spinning to music, tapping and twisting my way around the floor, and somehow convinced John to take classes with me.

I think we lasted two classes, and as much as he said (and I thought) he enjoyed it, he bowed out – gracefully, thankfully.

It cost a lot of money. It would have been a huge commitment.

He was never very good at commitment.

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When our bodies finally go

The word Silhouette has reminded me of this song since the day I heard this song for the first time, which I’m pretty sure was in the winter of 2005.

Every time I hear the word I hear this song start playing in my head, and I don’t mind it at all, and I don’t think you will either:

We’ll become silhouettes when our bodies finally go.

Tardy

This is an apt prompt, a day late because of moving and utter exhaustion, and not knowing exactly where my laptop or mind was.

Tardy is such a strange, silly word for being late.

I remember hearing the word used by uptight elementary school teachers, and remember giggling because tardy sounded like tard, and back then people threw the word ‘retarded’ around as an insult a lot more than they do today.

Let the record show that I was a day late and a dollar short for this post, but still not giving up.

Still

sometimes
when I close my eyes
I find myself

running
stumbling

on a sidewalk
in New York City

some memories
lost of their context

still drift to
the surface in dreams

I try to say goodbye but I choke

still
we are there

in that city
I think of as ours

stumbling

your agile hand
reaching out for mine

you always knew
how to find me

I always knew
you were home

The Anniversary

The twelfth of January is always a rough day for me, a day that evokes a melancholy that I can’t shake after, well, decades.

I was snappish and quick, and mean to Elise.

I threw out bag after bag of PURGE from my basement – things I haven’t touched or barely touched in the year that I’ve been here, they’re going, they’re gone.

I wandered around my apartment staring at things and wondering what to do next, in literal and existential ways.

I wished for this day to be over, basically from the moment I woke up, so I’m going to put a new book on my Kindle (the one I borrowed last is just too depressing) and be thankful that this 1/12 came and went without a tear.