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Cheaper Than Therapy
Feb. 21st, 2010 01:02 pmSo in spite of expectations otherwise, I managed to make it out to Heroes - the local New Wave/80's Night that I had hitherto been unaware of - last night. I wasn't quite sure what to expect; my personal 80's preference tends much more towards rock and metal, and less towards New Wave; I didn't know who would be there; I was going with a friend I haven't gone out dancing with before.... a huge handful of unknowns. But I was desperate for motion, so I tried it.
Oh dear gods above, it was the most right thing to do that I could imagine. My brain is a strange place. Sometimes when I'm down and uncertain and scared, the last thing I need is to be in a loud space surrounded by strangers. But other times, the noise and the dark and the press of other bodies and the lights and the heat and the pulse just floods me like a tide, carrying me out of my own mind and my swamp of misery and making everything transcendentally better. This was one of those times.
The place was crowded, but somehow the other bodies bumping into me on the dance floor just added to the energy high. Every time I turned around to look back at the door, another face I recognized was coming in. The music was loud and fun. I spent the evening wallowing in human contact, both physical and.... energetical? I don't know the word for it, but there has to be a way to describe the aura of shared sweat and laughter and joy-in-motion and self-awareness and group-awareness and unity that permeates a truly awesome dance floor. I can't remember the last time I've let my shields down that far, and by the end of the night I was half-giddy from contact highs and wincing when I walked from the utterly ridiculous heels I was wearing, and I cannot remember the last time I felt that good.
It felt like a fever breaking. Like lying down on sunny grass for the first time in May and feeling the cold in your bones finally melt. Like falling into my husband's arms after having been away for months. When things get worst, I sometimes forget what it feels like to be happy. I need to find a way to bottle this, and store it for then.....
Oh dear gods above, it was the most right thing to do that I could imagine. My brain is a strange place. Sometimes when I'm down and uncertain and scared, the last thing I need is to be in a loud space surrounded by strangers. But other times, the noise and the dark and the press of other bodies and the lights and the heat and the pulse just floods me like a tide, carrying me out of my own mind and my swamp of misery and making everything transcendentally better. This was one of those times.
The place was crowded, but somehow the other bodies bumping into me on the dance floor just added to the energy high. Every time I turned around to look back at the door, another face I recognized was coming in. The music was loud and fun. I spent the evening wallowing in human contact, both physical and.... energetical? I don't know the word for it, but there has to be a way to describe the aura of shared sweat and laughter and joy-in-motion and self-awareness and group-awareness and unity that permeates a truly awesome dance floor. I can't remember the last time I've let my shields down that far, and by the end of the night I was half-giddy from contact highs and wincing when I walked from the utterly ridiculous heels I was wearing, and I cannot remember the last time I felt that good.
It felt like a fever breaking. Like lying down on sunny grass for the first time in May and feeling the cold in your bones finally melt. Like falling into my husband's arms after having been away for months. When things get worst, I sometimes forget what it feels like to be happy. I need to find a way to bottle this, and store it for then.....
