Today was as stressful as predicted. In addition to two more people asking me about my 'pregnancy' (it appears to be just as much about my fibromyalgia waddle as my weight gain), and the pain and grinding fatigue from having done that necessary organizing and stockwork at my volunteer job yesterday (some big donors were coming through this afternoon), events happened today that were also stressful and depressing. Some of them I can't go into, but let's just say the morning started on the wrong foot all around. I don't normally volunteer two days in a row, either. Even though it's only 3 hours a day, two days in a row, especially once you count in the one hour commute each way on the train, is simply too much for me. This was a special thing they'd asked of me. Thankfully, after all the work I'd done yesterday, all I had to do was sit around and wait for clients and it wasn't very busy. I think I had three or four people total.
But what really got to me was a conversation about dance, and some volunteers and clients discussing how much they loved to dance and how it had improved their lives. It made me want to just start bawling and I kept having to look away. I miss dancing so much. Sometimes I still do it, at least the general club dancing, when I'm feeling really good, but the payback for that is swift and menacing. The price is generally a week of pain and/or coma-like sleep from which it is nearly impossible to pull yourself out of bed. And it may take even longer to recover fully, the effects of an evening of fun dancing might be felt for weeks as a sort of vague lingering tenseness, as if the joints have all been mummified, and a feeling that you can't pull in enough air to fuel your own body.
But I miss the structure and grace of ballet, the street cred of learning new hip hop moves and then incorporating them into your club dance routine, the feeling of accomplishment at surviving yet another session of capoeira. I miss laughing at myself for being too tipsy to six-step but still sober enough to catch yourself and finish off some move before anyone else notices you almost just tripped on your own feet. I miss how the lines of music pick you up and turn you into a human instrument, an artistic expression, a chord, a note. I miss dance.