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.