Everybody Hurts

Last night, I watched the movie Center Stage --the cult film of bunheads everywhere-- for the first time in a couple of years.

I watched that movie about a thousand times in high school; always joking about how cheesy and ham-fisted it was. But when I watched it last night, I found myself identifying with the antagonist Maureen (Susan May Pratt). She was the top ballet student, the girl who got all the good parts, the weapons-grade bitch-machine... who was secretly miserable. She had everything but then burned out and quit, which makes you hate her even more.

Watching the movie last night, I realized that I have a lot in common with that girl. Much more than I ever would have imagined. So much that it literally brought me to tears. I found myself relating to this massively-unlikeable character: I had a wonderful performing career, got great roles, taught and choreographed everywhere... but eventually, the very thing that brought me happiness made me really unhappy. B-movie or not, that film hit me where I live.

Which bothers me a bit. Dancing used to fill me with unsuppressed joy, and I'm really sad that that's no longer the case. I miss it. I really do. But how do you get something like that back?

*****

I have nothing to say beyond that. Here's your moment of Zen:

"All you need is ignorance and confidence, and the success is sure."
~ Mark Twain

Remember When: Part II

and the reminiscing continues...

* Remember when I had my first performance as a professional dancer; dancing PADV's signature piece Returning at their 2004 ArtBeat Concert?
* Remember when I auditioned for [Awesome People] Dance Company and got offered the lead in their Christmas ballet? That same night, the class accompanist declared aloud that I had "a fire in my eyes" and "danced with so much happiness."
* Remember when V and I danced together in Bolt?
* Remember how I used to make the Pennsylvania-NYC commute several days a week just to work with a small, just-getting-started dance company?
* Remember when I danced Douglass with [Awesome People] Dance Company?
* Remember when I did that dance-on-film project down near Galveston Beach?
.........
......
....
...I do. And I always will. My dance career has given me enough happy memories to last a lifetime.

Postcards from Hiatusville

I wanted to explain why this blog has been on a hiatus so long. I used to blog pretty often, and then boom! Butterfly goes to the Bermuda Triangle. Here's what happened:

Over the last month or so, I've been dealing with a lot of creative frustration in terms of creating my own art. Whether it's what to choreograph or what to write jokes about, I keep hitting the same roadblocks: Is this what I really want to use as subject matter? Do I have any specific good ideas, or do I just have a vague concept with no clear direction?
I made a vow in January that this year I would start the process on my own work.* It's May, and I've been kicking around/constantly changing Godknowshowmany different ideas, it's gotten quite frustrating.

And that, my dear friends, is why I have been pretty quiet on the blogging front-- all you would read was "FOR GOD'S SAKE I STARTED THIS DAMN SCRIPT IN FEBRUARY AND IT'S GOING NOWHERE ARRRRRRGGGHH FAIL." I don't want to subject you to a blog that reads like a 3a.m. drunk-dial from Courtney Love, so... yeah. Upstage Left was temporarily dark.

However, I've missed this little blog, and it's that magical time of year where my kiddos are gearing up to do their spring concert-- and you know I won't be able to resist blogging about that (like last year and the year before). So, consider this website's little hiatus more or less over-- and I'll try to keep my creative-frustration whining to a minimum. :)

* "My own work" can mean many things, but we'll talk about that another day.

Proshai, Robushka.

I met Rob on September 17th, 2006; the day I auditioned for "Company B." He was a gentleman who enjoyed dancing as a hobby and a form of self-expression; he had a career as a prominent violist with the Houston Ballet Orchestra and often played for the Houston Symphony. He was funny and personable and friendly as all get-out; he laughed and joked with us all the time and even attended my 21st birthday celebration at Poison Girl. His energy and personality added so much to the company; we shared some lovely moments together in improvisation class and he gave a lovely performance as Algeria Touchshreik in Outside.

We stayed friends even after I left the company. I made sure to invite him to parties, and we'd occasionally bump into each other at Houston Ballet studios and give each other hugs and chat for a while. Every time I went to the ballet, I'd wander down to The Pit during intermission to say hi. He was a great, sweet guy who touched a lot of hearts.

On Christmas Eve-- minutes before I left for church-- I found out through one of my dancer buddies that Rob passed away. He was fifty-two and he lost a battle with cancer. He played his music right up until the very end, too-- he and Barbara Bears shared a final performance at Houston Ballet's Jubilee of Dance on December 4th. He was a wonderful guy, and he will be sorely, sorely missed.

Proshai, Robushka = Good-bye, Rob Bridges. 1957 ~ 2009. We love you, man. Have a spiffy eternity. <3

Lady's A Charm, Part 2

Apologies for my slightly-hysterical post yesterday. I was probably a bit hasty. I should clarify a few things.

For a while now, I've been contemplating the direction and future of my dance career. Where to go, what to do, how long to continue, et cetera. Recently, though, my internal dialogue has become an internal shouting match; it was starting to drive me a wee bit crazy.

A few weeks ago I put in a phone call to Maria at PADV; we discussed the options. This morning, I had a sit-down on the phone with a fellow blogger and was offered lots of insight. I heard some of the same advice from both; and both told me the same basic idea: "You know what you need to do."

Thanks, you guys. I think I do know what I need to do. And it ain't gonna be easy and it ain't gonna be fun-- I know that tears will be shed in the process (my own/plenty of them)-- but I think that in the end, I will have done the right thing.

I think I know what I need to do.

And now, here's your Moment of Zen:
"Please. I may be distressed, but I know how to keep my mouth shut."
"Unless there's a big tuna sandwich around!"
~ Joseph Gannascoli and Joe Patoliano (as Vita Spatafore and Ralph Cifaretto, respectively), The Sopranos

Lady's A Charm, Part 1

So! We finished learning Amahl on Friday; I start my new job on Thursday. I'm excited about both.

I don't want to say too much just yet...but I have a feeling that there will be some changes around here in the next few months. It's too soon to tell, but if my 8am e-mail to a friend stating "CAREER COUNSELING NEEDED MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY HALP" is any indication, then...well, yeah. A few things may need to change. But that's only a "may," so nothing is definite yet. Honestly, I have no clue what's going to happen next. It's actually pretty frustrating.

Happpy NaBloPoMo, everyone. I'm off to pull my twelve-hour dance day. You stay classy, internet.

Oh, for the love.

We open in eight days. Count'em. Eight. That is one more than seven. That is a week from tomorrow.

It is going to be great.

It hasn't been an easy process for me. The movement doesn't come naturally to me-- I am classically trained as all get-out, and this movement is definitely contemporary (Quick aside: You know, I wanted to be a contemporary ballet dancer because I love ballet/don't have a classical ballet body-- but it turns out that it's a huge brain block for me. Ballet? Fine. Modern? Fine. Mix them together in a way where the balance between the classical and the contemporary is quite delicate? My brain explodes and my body refuses to cooperate). So, no, has not been easy. But it's getter better, getting easier, my body is finally responding to what the choreography asks for (my brain is still AWOL, but that's old news).

You know, during times like that it's really easy to let the frustration take over and forget why you do this in the first place-- you know, for the love and joy of dancing. But there are moments where it still sneaks in, and it makes you realize that it's all worth it, no matter how difficult the process can be. For instance, the final section of a ballet that I like to call "Zappy," (not the real title) where everyones comes on in a canon, and it's fast, swirling movement, nothing but energy and momentum and the power of the entire group working together-- even during my toughest rehearsals, that always gave me such pleasure to dance. Or in our other full-company piece--the one that will close the show-- where the music is just so uplifting and light, and the movement comes naturally (even though it's contemporary), and it's just so fun that you just can't but grin the whole time. Those times-- even on the worst days, remind me that I am doing this for A Reason. I've said it before, I'll say it again-- being a dancer ain't easy. But we do it because we love it.

And now-- on a lighter note!--Here's your moment of Zen:

"Alternate versions of The Little Engine that Could: The little engine that did and then found out it was overrated and then got disillusioned with life and stopped showering."
~ From this post over at The Bloggess. There's a whole list of them and her blog is great, so check it out (Thanks for not suing me, Jenny The Bloggess!).

Burning Girl

(Still no internet. Am posting from Mr. Sozeberg's computer; thanks, Keyser! I wrote this post earlier today on my home computer).

It's my first full day here in my new condo, and I have the day off. With no internet to use as my time-suck, the day has been spent grocery shopping, unpacking, and re-acquainting myself with my DVD collection.

Among the [many] DVDs I watched today, one of them was PADV's 2004 fall concert-- my second concert with the company. The final piece was Returning (the company's signature work), and as I watched it, two things stuck in my mind:
1. Holy damn, I looked totally different five years ago.
2. I danced with so much joy.
The second one kind of bugged me. "I danced with so much joy." I wondered, Do I still dance with that amount of happiness now? Probably not. Why? I mean, that was five years ago, and I made my living from dance; the same can be said today. So what's the difference between then and now?
I thought about it for a while, and the best answer that I can come up with is that... back then, it was a whole new world for me. It was my first apprenticeship, I had been with the company for seven months, I loved everything about it-- the people, the dances, the studio, everything. The senior-year struggle of Trying To Get Into A Company was over, I loved my new life, it was time to just kick back and enjoy it.

Note from the future: It doesn't last. About nine months to a year after you sign your first contract, a little voice creeps into your head, taps your skull, and whispers "Wake up, dollface. The honeymoon's over." And then all of a sudden you're worrying about your career, about your place in your career, if you're moving up fast enough, if you're doing enough, if you're getting enough stage time and how much you've added to your resume. And then you're going on endless auditions and interviews and guesting all over the place and dancing in multiple companies at once. Eventually, the burnout hits you.

It didn't hit me until last season, but it hit me hard. HARD. To the point where putting on a leotard and tights was less desirable than flossing my teeth with barbed wire. I had a wonderful experience working on Alice in Wonderland, but that was pretty much the extent of my joy. For the most part, the career that I busted my ass to even ATTAIN was causing me nothing but stress and angst.

So: I took the summer off. I enjoyed time with my best friend, I read a lot, I watched comedy and laughed my obnoxious shrieky-sounding laugh. I did some soul-searching and remembered why I loved to dance in the first place; why I chose to make this my career. I went back to ballet classes and reconnected with my dance buddies. And then I asked our company director if she wanted me to dance with her this season and talked about class schedules with the studio director. A week ago, I returned to dancing as a much happier dancer.

Usually, my dance-oriented goals involve performing a lot, getting roles, teaching well, and choreographing good dances. After watching that footage today, my new goal is to dance with the same amount of overflowing joy as I did on that DVD.

Flashbacks:In Loving Memory

It was our last day of Si Se Puede '08. We had two student matinees in the morning, and then an evening performance.

After the matinees, I checked my phone. There was a voicemail from my friend Lucius up north, and he was crying. CRYING. I had never heard this guy cry before, not once in my life. I listened to the voicemail. Thirty seconds later, I was crying as well.

I spent the rest of the day in a haze. I went back to my apartment in Montrose, made lunch, surfed 4chan in hopes of finding something, anything to make me laugh. Nothing did. Finally, at 5pm, I set out to TBH for our final performance.

My buddy V was already at the theatre, and we got to work folding programs for the night's performance. I told him that I found out a friend had passed. He asked how it happened, and I suddenly got quiet.
V: "She didn't hurt herself, did she?"
Me: *gulp* "Yes. She did."

I tried to get my mind off it. I warmed up with the rest of the company, a ballet barre on the stage. I laughed and joked with my fellow dancers. But when we circled up to do our pre-show prayer, it was all I could do to keep from crying my ever-loving eyes out.

I danced my first piece without a hitch, then spent the rest of Act I pacing around backstage, wondering "WhywhywhywhywhyWHY?" I decided I wanted to make a dance in her memory, because Lord knows that's all I know how to do in these situations (well...that, and bring beer to the surviving family. I'm pretty sure I would make a terrible bereavement counselor).

V came offstage and found me, still pacing. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

He gave me a hug. "This next dance is for your friend."

I couldn't have said it better.

We miss you, Celi.

Let's talk about "ACK!"

When I was a teenager, every time I got a performance video I would sit and watch it over and over again, looking for little mistakes and technical corrections. Nine times out of ten, after viewing the tape I would spend the next two hours berating myself.

You would think that would change after becoming a professional ballet teacher and choreographer. As it turns out, NO.

Nowadays, I can watch my own performance videos and not weep, down a glass of wine, and then weep some more. In fact, the last time I watched footage of my own dancing, I felt-- dare I say it-- happy. When it comes to watching footage of my choreography... well, that's another story entirely. *

I'm watching such a DVD at the moment. And the sick thing is that while part of me wants to leave town and change my name....another part of me wants to show this footage to another dance professional to get their feedback and see if A) I'm just being overly self-critical, and B) so I can improve as a choreographer.

Either way: I think I'll stop blogging for now, watch the rest of the footage, and see if maybe my morale doesn't improve. What are your throughts, Upstage Lefters?

* I want to make it clear that I'm bemoaning my own choreographic mojo and NOT the dancers' performances. Dancers, you were great.

My Week in 15: Stress, 'Alice,' and Hoping for Better

Part One: Stress

1. Sorry for the lack of updates, everyone. It's has been a crazy stressful week here at Upstage Left, so normal hobbies like blogging, cooking, and naked hang gliding had to take a bit of a backseat.
2. Just to give you an idea: I came home Thursday on the verge of tears, hiccuping and mumbling it's just so hard, i used to love dancing and performing but now it makes me miserable and it sucks and good God I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE. Thankfully, my good friend was around to take me by the hand and gently remind me suck it up, already.
4. I've spent the last few days having some good, long talks with myself about how to better handle these situations; thinking about what needs to change in order for me to go back to loving my dancer- life.
5. I also forced my good friend to listen to me ramble on (thanks, Mr. Sozeberg) ad we had several dialogues about how to be stronger and how to approach my anxiety over the situation. As a result, I feel better prepared to take on the coming week.
It's not all, doom and gloom, though....

Part Two: Let's talk about 'Alice'

6. Teaching my students and working on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland has been my Happy Place during this stressful week. Whether the first three-quarters of my day have been good, bad, or ugly; I'm smiling by the time I leave the studio at the end of the night.
7. Thanks to all who e-mailed asking about our injured dancers. I have a feeling our Alice is going to be fine-- kids are resilient, and when I saw her the other day she said "It doesn't even hurt anymore."
8. She does have an understudy rehearsing in her place for time being (Yours Truly).
9. I don't mind-- heck, rehearsing her part is fun. I'm just hoping to not perform it, because my hard-working student deserves that moment way too much (It's her first lead role, one she's worked very hard for). In the meantime, I'm more than happy to be her temporary-stand in.
10. I'm feeling pretty good about my progress thus far on the story ballet. My dances are getting cleaner, things are looking good, and I'm a happy co-choreographer-turned-understudy.

Part Three: Staying Hopeful

11. What else? I have performances this week! I'm hoping that by then I feel like my normal dancer-self again. Although nothing lifts my spirits like a good performance, I'm hoping to enjoy the full process and not realize "Oh, hey, that was fun! Performing is great!" after the shows are over.
12. I think the Dance Company is filming a TV commercial this week, too. That'll be fun. E, A, and I danced in a TV spot together last summer, and it was really neat.
13. The fact that I'm looking forward to performing and the like makes me think things are going to work out just fine. It's hard to not be anxious, though; it's been really difficult lately.
14. People don't say this enough: Being a dancer is rough, y'all.
15. And with that, I'm off to the studio.

How to Wreck a Thursday:

Step 1. Wake up freezing your buns off; discover it is not only cold outside but raining to boot.
Step 2. Engage in a wrestling match with your hair. Lose. Concede to looking like Frizzy McAfrostein for the day.
Step 3. Have an anxiety attack because all of the stuff you have to get done by, um, yesterday. Better yet, have two.
Step 4. Read over the two posts you wrote last night and decide they are embarrassingly bad. Delete both.
Step 5. Go to rehearsal, where your usual partner in crime is absent (along with another girl who you've been understudying). Scramble to fill -both- girls' roles in different ballets. Do absolutely nothing right. Feel like a moron.
Step 6. Feel like an even bigger moron because you're so frustrated you are about to cry. Fight tears by digging your fingernails into your arm.
Step 7. Get stuck in unbelievable traffic on the way to your next rehearsal. Curse your existence.

How to Repair a Thursday:
Step 1. Arrive at your second rehearsal. Spend ninety minutes in the presence of wonderful people.
Step 2. Witness your piece start to come together; your dancers focusing and working hard and getting things done.
Step 3. Show what you have so far to others, who smile and tell you they like it.
Step 4. Leave rehearsal with a big dumb grin on your face. Mission accomplished.

Fallout

The theater is dark on this Monday morning, but our company assembles in a small rehearsal studio to quickly re-work ballets to cover for Jimmy's absence. We sit on the floor and talk solemnly; except for the dancer who is trying to learn all of Jimmy's solo roles and is understandably freaking out. We discuss if anyone has heard from Jimmy, we wonder about his condition, we continue try and piece together what happened. We may never be certain about the series of events; speculations continue to fly back and forth.

We try and steer our pre-rehearsal conversation to happier topics; we discuss people who have come to see the show (DanceAdvantage came to see us, as well as a lovely reader of this website named Natalie), our director tells us about the adorable children from her church who came to the show and drew her pictures of the performance. I tell E that I enjoyed meeting her husband and that I "approve" of him. We finish sipping our coffees and rehearsal begins; Nicky learns Jimmy's solo from Freedom, spacing is re-worked in many places.
We go into Douglass and begin to fill in the blanks left by Jim. We muse over Little Freddy, who grew by leaps and bounds as a young artist this past weekend (audience members commented on a noticeable difference in his dancing between Friday's show and Sunday's), particularly in the way he covered for his absent scene partner like an absolute pro (did I mention this is a twelve-year-old I'm talking about? Mm-hmm. Yes. TWELVE. That boy has a damn good future ahead of him).
I mumble that only thing breaking my heart as much as Jimmy is our director: a genuinely great woman who is now in the unenviable position of trying to cover for a principal dancer who, essentially, carried a major ballet on his shoulders (In a big company like, say, NYCB, this is no sweat. However, we are a small company, and everyone hugely feels the impact of one missing person). It is a situation slightly less desirable than scrubbing a public restroom with your teeth; thus there are as many prayers for her flying around as there are for Jim.

It's been a head trip, these last 24 hours. As much as we can now say that we as a company can get through ANYTHING now as a result of this, it's hardly a time to be triumphant about possessing the power to Deal With Crazy Stuff As A Group. We love you, Jimmy; and we're praying for your healing. Get better soon, man.

EDIT: I still haven't given you a recap of Happier Times in the [Awesome People] Dance Company (a.k.a. Friday and Saturday's performances). So instead, here's a picture of us looking cute and joyful in our Shaker costumes:

Loss, Betrayal, and Longed-For Saving Grace: A Sad Day in Upstage Left

During Friday and Saturday's performances I scribbled down all sorts of amusing things to regale you with in my little pink Hello-Kitty notebook....but you're going to have to wait. I just got off the phone with a fellow dancer, after a good 15 minutes of morosely going over the events of the day.

About five minutes before we took the stage for our Sunday matinee, we learned something very sad about one of our own dancers, someone who was new to our company. When he didn't show up at call time, we assumed it was a family emergency of some kind. At curtain time-- when we circled up to do our pre-show prayer, in fact-- the stage manager came to the door and told our director that someone wanted to speak with her. We were already in place to go on for Sabbath Day when someone (I don't even remember who, to be honest) came over and told us what was going on, and it was that moment that my heart cracked in half and leaked all over the front of my Shaker dress.

I attacked Sabbath Day with more energy then ever before (Because Jimmy was missing, I got to be in the first three movements of Sabbath Day again. As much as I wanted to dance those sections again I did NOT want it to be under such awful circumstances). I felt great while I was dancing, my body finally (Finally) [FINALLY!] felt like my own normal dancing body for the first time in weeks, I felt energetic, exuberant, and happy; the audience loved E and me in our little Shaker-duet... and the moment I got back into the dressing room, I looked at Victor and said "I'm so sad about Jimmy." He agreed, adding that "It just feels kind of surreal right now."

It was on everyone's mind, and we couldn't stop talking about what was happening. In the dressing room, in the hallway by the bathroom, and in the wings backstage dancers were going over the evidence: talking about what had happened the last time we saw Jimmy and speculating what may have happened after we all left the theater last night.

Of course, Jimmy danced in solo and principal roles. While it wasn't too hard to cover his absence in Act One, Act Two was a different story. My friend Blue Eyes and I sat down during the end of Act One and made a list of scenes he would need to be covered for in Douglass and Freedom; at the beginning of Intermission our director came in and talked with us about Who would cover Where by doing What. Lifts were re-worked, spacing was adjusted, dancers set off to learn some of his parts in under five minutes. Tensions ran high, people felt upset. I, the obligatory funny-girl of the company and already dressed in my Mrs. Lloyd costume, was at a loss for what to do, so on a whim I glided over to E in my hoop dress, lifted up my enormous skirt, and dropped it over her head.

This made E laugh hysterically (after she crawled out from under the big purple tent that is my hoop skirt), along with Georgia and Blue Eyes. It was only about a minute later, though, that we were alarmed by the sound of another dancer sobbing (this wasn't someone who we see cry very often ever, which made it even more startling). R and I ran over to hug her and offer comfort...but what can one really say or do at a time like this? We thought that she was stressed at trying to learn his roles in a twenty- minute time frame, but she later said "It just makes me sad, because he was so beautiful." I agreed, and had to pull my bonnet strings even tighter around my throat to keep from bursting into tears myself.

But then it was time: Places For The Top Of Act Two. We flowed through the first several scenes of Douglass. About halfway through I went up to Georgia in the wings, gave her a hug, and said "I just needed to hug someone. Know that I love you."

I then changed back into my Mrs.-Lloyd costume and danced the "Slave Machine" quartet, we all kicked ass, and it was awesome. I snuck into the wings to watch our director do Invisible No More and cried because it was sodamnfreakingbeautiful. Freedom felt good, my newly-modified lift with R (formerly my lift with R and Jimmy) went well, and I smiled and danced my little heart out. The audience applauded like mad and showered us with applause and accolades and love.

I stayed after, chatting with audience members and other dancers' friends/children/spouses and with Mr. Sozeberg (who came to see our show, Thanks Keyser! Did the Rockets win?). I helped clean up the dressing room, drove home blasting Stravinsky at a loud enough volume to drown out my thoughts, stopped at the grocery store by my house and chattered excitedly with the owner who essentially knows me by face (because I am there ALMOST EVERY DAY). I arrived home, I threw pizzas in the oven, and I poured myself a glass of wine the size of Lake Okeechobee. I drank, I read multiple volumes of "Growing Up Cullen," I watched downloaded episodes of Family Guy...anything, other than think about the dark and terrifying path that a dear friend of mine has gone down; possibly never to return.

Elspe called earlier, and we had a good long talk. She has known Jimmy much longer than the rest of us, and was able to offer a little more insight and background to what happened. We're both so sad for him, and we're both praying for his recovery.

I'll update you more later on. In the meantime, I'll give you something not-depressing to tide you over: Here's a picture of R and me as the evil-nasty slave-owning Lloyd contingency:

Aren't we cute (and by "cute," I of course mean "evil")?

Please pray for Jimmy, folks.

Temporarily Offstage Left (Updated)

Oh, hey guys. Remember me? I haven't posted in a while, and although I have TONS of neat stuff to regale you with, it will have to wait a few days. I'm in the process of trying to make the self-hosting shift, plus it's not been the typical shiny-happy dance-filled week over here at Upstage Left: someone passed away, I was down for the count with an injury, Lucius and I decided to shut down our humor website, Houston was plagued with Catholic Funeral Weather, and my spacebar key kept getting stuck. If I had posted at all, it would probably have read like a voicemail message from Alec Baldwin.

It's not all bad news, though: I'm off the out-injured list as of tomorrow, and I'm so excited to go to rehearsal tomorrow that you would think Jesus Christ himself will be in attendance. It never occurs to me until I'm out of commission how much dance is my sustenance: if you didn't eat or sleep for four days, by the end of day four you would either be a walking corpse or you would be foaming at the mouth and pillaging. The same thing happens to me if I don't dance for four days. Things will be much happier for everyone involved once I have gotten my dance fix. EDIT: Whoops, nevermind. Still out.

In the meantime, Dancehunter and DanceAdvantage have been picking up my slack in the Houston-dance-bl0gging department. Visit their blogs, read, enjoy, check back here later.

P.S. I gave you a Valentine's Day picture last year, so I'll conclude with this:

More casual. More blurry. WAY more fun.

Later!

Returning to routine......or trying to, anyway.

Once the fall season got rolling, I settled into a pretty solid routine.

Then, I was out of work at the dance studio for a week after becoming massively ill. Recovered just in time to eke out two performances, then left to spend a week in Pennsylvania. I came back to Houston for two days to do Nutcracker, then left to spend a week roaming the Hill Country of Texas. Came back, enjoyed a two-day spiritual quest full of meditation and reflection and Zen-like experience.

As you can see, any concept of a "routine" that I may have had has long since turned to dust.

But now we're back-- it's the first Monday after New Years. I have not danced in a week; I have not taught in nearly a month, this week kicks off Alice In Wonderland rehearsals and a return to my ensemble's rehearsals. I'm so nervous, I could puke right now.

Where are my anti-anxiety pills?

So, ah, if anybody needs me, I'll be over here biting my nails and trying to reign in my anxiety long enough to put on a leotard. Catch you later

At Odds with the Dance

I had A Moment this morning. It happens to all dancers at one time or another, and it goes something like this:

For days, you've been feeling like the worst dancer on planet Earth. Everything you do is wrong wrong wrong, nothing you do looks good, something is always a little bit "off" (at best), just plain terrible (at worst), or somewhere in between. You're dancing in a hair shirt, you leave every rehearsal feeling like an idiot, you've just had a bad class and you're so frustrated with yourself that you start crying...which makes you feel like an ever bigger idiot because seriously, who does that, this isn't Junior High.

But you can't help it, the tears are free- falling and you're using run-on sentences and other dancers notice and ask if you're okay. Which is a little embarassing, so you say you're fine, just (*sniff*) one of those days, you know; does anyone have a tissue? Thanks; yeah, I'm totally okay, I'll be fine in a minute, it's cool; it's cool, I'm cool.

You wipe the last tears from your face, tug on a pair of legwarmers, and get back to work. The show must go on.
******

Mind you, I'm not some candy-assed pansy who does this on a regular basis-- this is only the second time, oh, ever. Both times it was a high-stress situation where bad feelings had been piling up for a while, and both times I felt better as soon as I cried them out of my system. It's like a fever: it builds up inside and makes you feel like crap, then it breaks, you sweat it out, and you start feeling normal again. During today's rehearsal I danced with more energy/confidence and less anxiety/self-depreciation than I have all week. By the time rehearsal ended, I felt pretty okay.

After rehearsal L and I went outside to have a smoke and talk about dancerly things. Every dancer goes through rough patches; I call it my "quarter- life dance crisis." That was what I told our choreographer when she asked why I was upset; explaining that I'm just currently at odds with my own dance abilities. My dancing and I, we haven't gotten along all week.

After today, though, I feel better. Dance and I, we've had our little spat, but I think we're on the road to better days now.

All in all, it was a pretty awesome day

I woke up yesterday morning to perfect weather. I spent about two hours dancing around my house to Minkus and Stravinsky and working on my new pieces. I strolled outside into the perfect 72-degree temperature, informed my neighbor that it was indeed a great day to be alive, and strolled over to rehearsal. Barre felt great, I felt very in tune with my body; full of Dance and Life and Whee Yay I Love Everybody....

.........and then I proceeded to have one of those rehearsals where somebody was constantly screwing up. And by "somebody," I mean "me." Good-bye, wind in my sails! It’s unbearably frustrating to clam up on a ballet that I’ve already danced—and not just once, either; we performed that puppy thirteen times last winter. And with me, it’s the little things that are always going awry. Developpes? Sure. Pirouettes? Let’s do some. Super-fast allegro? Bring it! That part that a retarded tortoise could do? I just messed it up for the nineteenth time. * facepalm * It’s embarrassing, but that’s the way I’ve always been. Sorry, fellow dancers. Feel free to throw things (just not really big things, if you please. Dancing + concussion = bad combination).

Thankfully, I felt a lot better in the second half of rehearsal and could actually dance --without feeling like a complete tool. That’s always a plus, right? By the time rehearsal was over, my high spirits had returned.

I had an excellent time at the studio last night: I introduced a whole bevy of new material to my modern kiddos, inducted them into the chaotic world of Trying To Count Stravinsky (they’re doing a Stravinsky piece this season--thankfully these kids can pretty much count anything), and did “stunt night” with my last group (I’ve got Big Plans for the piece they’re doing. It’s exciting). I love those kiddos, I really do.

After I got home I spent some quality time with the coolest person in town; we drank pinot grigio, we listened to excellent music, we had great conversations. We eventually decided that sleep was overrated and continued having an awesome time until the wee hours. This morning, there was much coffee—it’s time for more rehearsals, more classes, more choreography. Sleep or no sleep.

Creatively Dry.

It's not a fun place to be, but we all go through phases of it from time to time. It's annoying. It's frustrating. And there's nothing you can do about dry spells but wait them out.

I'm going through one of those spells right now. I blame it on burnout, which is another frustrating place to be. I was hoping this little five-day break from routine would help, but four days in I can't even blog coherently, let alone make dances. This is not encouraging.

George Balanchine said it best: "In making ballets, you cannot sit and wait for the Muse. Union time hardly allows it, anyhow." These dances aren't going to finish themselves, we've got a show to do, my dancers are waiting. Muse or no muse, I must press on.

ARGH. If anybody needs me, I'll be over here pulling my hair out in frustration. And aggressively hunting down my muse.

Sad News

I was talking on the phone with my mom a few minutes ago, and she told me that a girl I used to dance with (she was my assistant at Nardi Dance Studios for my favorite beginner classical ballet class) passed away two days ago in a car crash.

This news landed on me like a ton of bricks. I knew this girl. She attended LVPA (my alma mater), she was a beautiful ballet dancer, she helped me teach the art of ballet to children and lended a hand with my Ballet I class. She's on my myspace friends list, we left each other comments the summer before I moved away (and sporadically after that). The really sad thing is that last year she hurt her back and had to stop dancing, and her new passion became.....her car. She loves her Honda (loved? It kills me to use past tense); in fact her myspace name is "I heart my car!" This just kills me. 19 years old. Freak accident. Loved ballet, loved cars, bright future ahead.
This is so, so sad.

Miss Stephanie....rest in peace. You are and you always will be an amazing girl. I'm so sorry you're gone.