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Almost perfect....
Oct. 24th, 2002 12:45 pmThere's nowhere to dance in this house.
I love it here - the kitchen is huge, there are enough windows to satisfy even my need for sunshine, it's cool in the summer and cozy in the winter, there's enough space for just about all of our Stuff, but... it's not a dance-friendly house.
Some days, the only thing I want in the world is to turn up the stereo, pull down the curtains, strip to my skin, close my eyes tight, and dance until nothing is real except myself and the music. I want to feel the notes on my skin, my heart beating in time to the music. I want to be aware of myself and my bones and my muscles and not care about anything else - not worry about looking good, or leaving space for the other dancers, or wonder if anyone is watching. I want to dance for me, not for them.
But my room is too small for truly wild abandon, even if I push my desk chair into the hall and toss the stuffies on the bed. The living room would almost work, if the CD player in there didn't skip every time I take a step heavier than a tiptoe. The kitchen is big enough, and open enough, but the acoustics are wrong, and I'm not quite liberated enough to get past the mental foolishness of dancing in the kitchen - it sounds too much like a scene from a sitcom.
It's not so bad. There are many worse things that I could have to live with. But I swear, if I can't get rid of this mental itch soon, I'm throwing my bed out the window and to heck with the consequences. I've got my priorities.
I love it here - the kitchen is huge, there are enough windows to satisfy even my need for sunshine, it's cool in the summer and cozy in the winter, there's enough space for just about all of our Stuff, but... it's not a dance-friendly house.
Some days, the only thing I want in the world is to turn up the stereo, pull down the curtains, strip to my skin, close my eyes tight, and dance until nothing is real except myself and the music. I want to feel the notes on my skin, my heart beating in time to the music. I want to be aware of myself and my bones and my muscles and not care about anything else - not worry about looking good, or leaving space for the other dancers, or wonder if anyone is watching. I want to dance for me, not for them.
But my room is too small for truly wild abandon, even if I push my desk chair into the hall and toss the stuffies on the bed. The living room would almost work, if the CD player in there didn't skip every time I take a step heavier than a tiptoe. The kitchen is big enough, and open enough, but the acoustics are wrong, and I'm not quite liberated enough to get past the mental foolishness of dancing in the kitchen - it sounds too much like a scene from a sitcom.
It's not so bad. There are many worse things that I could have to live with. But I swear, if I can't get rid of this mental itch soon, I'm throwing my bed out the window and to heck with the consequences. I've got my priorities.
