I pulled 24 bobby pins out of my bun last night and let my hair loose after a long weekend at the theatre.
“Why is it,” Shawn asks, “that we work towards something for so long and so hard and when it finally arrives we’re terrified of it and the completely relieved when it’s over?” Good question. I think it’s a little like running a marathon. Not that I’ve ever run a marathon, but bear with me. You work and you train and you finally catch your goal when you cross that finish line. It feels good to be done.
It went well enough. I danced reasonably well. I had at least one screw up which has given me some stuff to work on before next year. Someone got hurt, a few people cried, we all ate enough cookies and crap to cancel out any physical activity we achieved, and I think we wore out another stage manager. Par for the course. See you next year.
And this week, classes will be small; a few will be canceled. We all have ballet hangovers, and jammies and reruns sound better than pointe shoes and leg warmers. When we all roll back around to the regular class schedule, our instructor will slam us with the kind of hard core technique classes that make your muscles scream when you wake up the next morning and we’ll be grateful.
So it goes.
And now I’ll take my révérence and turn around to catch up on dishes and laundry and work invoices. Here’s to real life.
Fin.