Relax [Take it easy]

The honeymoon period is lasting longer than I expected.

It’s entered its third week now. Occasionally there is stuff to do, proof read this, put together that final proposal, fine tune a write up, review someone’s work; bits and pieces here and there not lasting more than a day each.

The rest of the time is spent chatting; both face-to-face and virtual-ly, surfing, listening to music, writing, and even reading! Free time sure is stressful. No, seriously.

During this freer period I like it when I have just enough ‘easy’ work to occupy approximately 70% of my day. Unfortunately it seems to be all or nothing here. When there’s work, it overflows, and when the opposite is true, the dry spell makes the passage of every second excruciating. It’s when I have work, no matter how tough it is, that I find it easy to come to work. When I know my schedule is empty, the effort to get out of bed is truly monumental.

I’m relaxed, but expectant. Keeping my doggy ears pricked for signs of the next avalanche.

Klutz

This morning I dunked my thumb into my coffee.

No, not because I mistook my thumb for a doughnut but because well, it’s just something I do. No! I don’t mean that I enjoy dunking my thumb in coffee at regular intervals but that I’m clumsy like that.

I’ve been getting phantom bumps and bruises on body ever since I can remember. I’d get up in the morning and lo and behold there would be a brand new bruise I have no recollection of having acquired. I’ve probably bumped into every surface in my vicinity that it is humanly capable of bumping into with my legs, arms and even my head, at least twice over. I could even make a pastime of counting the number of bruises I had at any one time, but that would mean I’d spend even longer in the bathroom admiring their beautiful colouring and comparing their pain-inducing level. In fact I enjoy finding new bruises; it makes me look rather comically battered, like my body is more lived in than others somehow.

My dad used to shake his head and call me accident-prone when I was still little. I lost count of the number of drains I fell dramatically into, whether trying to walk across it or riding my bike straight into it. And my siblings didn’t like me very much because they would get blamed for not looking out for their clumsy little sister when we played together. Oh and don’t even get me started on the time I chomped on my own tongue while pretending to be Superman. It was a bloody affair, and a most satisfying classic injury.

Unfortunately my clumsiness also extends past the domain of my own body. And naturally Bran is the primary, innocent target to get in the way of my flailing arms and legs. I’ve stepped on, poked, scratched and done numerous other types of bodily harm to the love of my life. It’s lucky he loves me and stoically bears the suffering though he does remind me every time to try not to kill him. And I reply that I will try…..if I don’t inadvertently kill myself first that is.

Salsa might be more social than I am.

Went for my first ‘dance party’ last weekend and this is what I did:

- danced with my classmates, very reassuring as they were as lost as I was.

- danced with some of the pro’s thus thoroughly embarrassing myself because I had to struggle to keep up and figure out what to do when they sprang new steps on me.

- Sat down at the sidelines exhausted after each dance and watched mesmerized as the professionals showed just how accomplished they are

- Left early to a much welcome foot massage as my feet were killing me and yes, because I was feeling out of place and out of my depth again

There is much more to learn about the intricacies and dynamics of this very social dance. And I’m not just talking about the dance steps. The dancers are hardly of a certain ‘kind’ or mold, the guys might look like the geekiest sort of people you’d never imagine grooving to anything, but on the dance floor they’re skillful and quick-footed. It’s also great to see how there doesn’t seem to be much favouritism when it comes to selecting dance partners. While it is only natural to expect that people would have their preferences when it comes to whom they dance with, it seemed to me that the dancers were making the rounds and dancing with as many different people as possible. It was all very promiscuous really :p. Ahem, but in all aspects the dancers displayed commendable decorum.

But the party got me thinking if maybe I had overestimated my ability to keep up and master the dance. I know it’s still early days yet and it will take lots of practice to get anywhere near passable but I wonder if I might have chosen an inappropriate discipline for myself. Perhaps a waltz would be better suited to my capabilities.

Hm. Nothing to do now except to see how it goes, at least I’m broadening my horizons and I know a little bit more than I did before and that’s always worth the effort.

Dance school graduate

So we’ve graduated and moved on to the next level.

Funnily enough, the students remaining have become instantly friendlier, as if we are suddenly bound together by our supposed seriousness of intent. That’s nice, since it had been my biggest problem so far, having joined the class on my own unaccompanied. In fact they’ve become so familiar that they demand to know what my excuse could possibly be not to go out dancing with them! My, my, what a vast difference.

I also notice a subtle but distinct change in the way the instructor interacts and instructs us. He’s exercising a firmer hand now, has upped his expectations of our performance and takes a bit more time to give some individual comments and pointers. He’s able to do all this now also because the class has been reduced by almost half what it was previously. And surprisingly enough it now has an equal number of guys and girls, so no one is left without a partner at any time.

I like the change of atmosphere and yes, I really must find time to go out dancing with my new-found (bossy) dance buddies :p.

Night.
Time to sleep.
Time to dream of people and places
as we’d like them to be.

Time to awaken desire
and let it roam free.
To a place we might call home.
To warm arms that stretch
to embrace and enclose.
To glinting words
just beyond the edge of a whisper.

Come,
quietly now.
In the night,
find refuge.