now it's time to shimmy and shake
Considering how slowly my life is moving at present, I really have no excuse for not documenting it in excruciating detail. (Other than a desire to spare your last nerve, that is.) Blake & I have settled into our new work equilibrium in which Mommy is bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan, after which she sets out her son's clothes, packs a new lunch, washes his sheets with sisyphean regularity etc. I've put out the garbage twice now (and the first time was in the icy darkness, while wearing high heels). I'm pretty impressed with myself. To quote a title I once saw in a comic store, it's a good life if you don't weaken.
The only new thing of note is that I started a belly dance class yesterday. I'm not sure what I think of my instructor. I tend to be hypercritical of instructors now, while at the same time I'm still the teacher-pleaser of yore. It's a volatile combination of bitter internal monologue and unselfconscious boot-lickery. Still, she may be hard to get a handle on but at least she's herself. I'd rather try to puzzle out a strong enigma than a bland cipher.
I'm not a natural, by the way. I'm very very much a beginner. Yoga has improved my strength and tone, but I'm still desperately uncoordinated and really poor at choreographed muscle movements. My snake arms are sucking, rather than biting. Then again, I didn't sign up so that I could dance tables by spring. As long as I can keep my self-esteem by the last session, I'm not even interested in doing the shimmy.
Well, maybe a little interested in doing the shimmy. Keep the innuendo dogs at bay, would you?
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*