Have you lost weight?

I've been getting this question a lot lately. It's usually followed with 'cause you look good' (which I suppose is better than 'cause you look sickly'). And my response is always the same...thanks but no; at least not according to the scale.

Now, normally the question wouldn't bother me. It's almost like a compliment, right? 'Cause I look good, right? Except that hidden behind the question lurks the ugly little suggestion that I didn't look good before; that I was, dare I say it, FAT and in need of losing weight. Before (cause now I "look good"). I know that's not really true (although I am still shedding my winter 'coat' so maybe its a little true) or at least I don't think the people asking me the question really care about my weight but in this weird transitional place I'm finding myself lately, the question just didn't sit right with me this time. And its not like I was gonna go off on a friend for asking what normally would be an innocuous question so here I rant.

Maybe its cause I'm pms'ing. Or maybe I'm hypersensitive about my weight (I am a girl after all and I do live in one of the most superficial places on the planet). Or maybe I'm just having a funky week. I am seriously sleep deprived, so that could be a part of it too. Or maybe my star sign is in the house of 'damn people are annoying'. Who the hell knows.

But enough about me . . . have you lost weight? Cause you look good.

Top Ten Reasons Why Writing is Hard

A lil' while back I yammered on about this book my colleague & I were going to write. Sounded like a great idea at the time, right? Of course, since then, we've accomplished nothing. Not a damn thing. Not together and not apart (or at least I haven't accomplished anything myself; and I'm pretty sure she hasn't either). That whole "once a week at lunch" idea? Fantastic in theory; impossible in reality. It's not that we don't want to; that we've changed our minds; or won the lottery or anything. No. It's just been really really hard finding the time and drive to make it happen. And here's why:

10. There's this little thing called A Job. Mine requires me to work ridiculous hours with very little downtime. At least that's its torment of the moment.
9. Sleep is golden. And there never seems to be enough of it.
8. I'd rather be dancing.
7. Or day dreaming.
6. It's rained more days than not for the last month and weather like that is hardly a motivator.
5. Facebook. 'nuf said.
4. Did I mention sleep?
3. There is no right way to write a book. And I like to be right.
2. It's hard enough to come up with ten reasons why its hard.
1. If it was easy, everybody'd do it. And then it wouldn't pay. So what would be the point.

So this is what exhausted feels like

Today is the 19th day in a row that I've had to work. And, even if I magically get next weekend off, I've got to work tomorrow and all week, so it will be 26 days in a row before I'm done. And the chances of actually getting off next weekend are basically slim to none, so add another weekend, plus the standard work week to the total, and I'm looking at 33 days without a fucking day off. I'm already at my limit -- and have no idea where the energy is going to come from to get through the next 14 days. No idea whatsoever.

This should be fucking illegal. No wonder lawyers are a bunch of suicide prone, alcoholic drug addicts.

Dancing to the Music in Your head

Most people hear music in their heads. A song comes on, they can feel it, so to speak. They remember the tune; they know all the words; maybe even they see the video in their mind's eye. And of course, everyone is familiar with that desperate moment when you get some god-awful song stuck in your brain You know the one -- that song that you wouldn't admit listening to is suddenly repeating itself over and over and over and over and over and, well, you get my point.

Or maybe not.

My point , you see, [oh, and on a total tangent, I just watched the most obnoxiously smug commercial -- 'don't be so vanilla' some 7 year old quips; why the fuck does a 7 year old know what the hell that even means?]...oh, right, my point...

My point is that while some people hear music in their heads, I don't. Well, I mean, I do. But I don't just hear the music. I also SEE dancing. Or rather, its like I FEEL dancing. I choreograph. In my head. To everything. Almost all the time. And what is really crazy is that I can almost feel the movement coursing through my body. Even though I'm usually on a train or subway or some other public place where it would not be exactly appropriate to break out into dance. Maybe it's some weird psycho thing I've created in my mind, but I think breaking into song would be looked upon less strangely than breaking out into dance. Not to mention that you can sing no matter what you're wearing. Try dancing in a suit with 3 and a half inch heels, and things could get ugly.

But yeah, I dance in my head. ALL. THE. TIME. On the subway. In line at the grocery store. At my desk. Ev. ry. where. Always. If there's music on, you can bet I've got a number going on in my mind. Hell, the other night, at the post-last call cocktail at my place, I started actually randomly dancing. And not like oh I'm at a party, dancing. Lyrical dancing. Mia Michaels type shit. My friends, and the DH, all thought I was totally nuts. But regardless, the dancing never stops.

And I think I know why. Up until the last, say, 5 years, give or take a couple of year, I was a rabid club goer. I wasn't there for the X, or the potential hook-ups like some folks I know, I was there to dance. In fact, for as long as I can remember, I've always tried to get my friends to go out dancing with me. And it has always been depressing how few of them would ever actually go. Oh, they'd show up at the club but then just stand at the bar and refuse to dance, leaving me to dance alone (hello, if I wanted to go dance by myself at some random club I wouldn't have asked you to go with me) or not at all. A few years back, the few who said yes was depressing, but now no one EVER wants to go dancing. No one. Never. And it fucking sucks.

Plus, thanks to the new job and the crazy fucked up hours associated with it, I've not been able to take this dance class I used to take every Monday night.

And then, there's this little part of me that thinks maybe it's more than just missed classes and a club-free existence. Maybe I see dance in my head where others hear music because, simply, I feel most alive when I'm dancing. Maybe, just maybe, like George Balanchine once said, I HAVE to dance. I know that sounds, like, wow, coming from someone pushing 40 who is not a professional dancer and I realize its probably too late for me to become some star dancer, but maybe I could still become some hotshot choreographer. Or even just a great dance teacher. Maybe.

Of course any of these choices, or paths, would require leaving my job and taking some ginormous risks. Which I believe I made quite clear in my last post, I am nowhere near ready to take. But, perhaps the winds of change will sweep in faster than I can see. For they are definitely starting to blow.

For now, however, me and my Dior bag will have to keep dancing inside and maybe make some new friends to go clubbing with until I can figure the rest out.