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.

no sympathy for the lazy

I don’t sympathize
with myself when I don’t get
a bit of work done.

I punish myself
with negative thoughts and hate
what I have become.

+++

Moving back in with my parents last week has been incredibly hard to adjust to.

I have barely had a few moments alone besides late at night when everyone is sleeping and therefore haven’t been getting enough good sleep.

Worst thing: I have been paralyzed, feeling like I don’t have a thing to say, feeling like I am failing myself over and over again every day that I don’t reach toward my goals.

It makes me feel crazy.

How can I feel like I have nothing to say?

I have everything to say, I am just scared to say anything; I am just scared of everything.

Just start, just start, just start.

I have no sympathy for myself when the only thing that’s holding me back is me.