Woah.

I've only been here one week?  Not half the semester?  Not six years?  Not even, well. . . it hasn't even been seven days, has it?  Holy cow.  In the past week I've been withdrawn from, added to, withdrawn from again and REadmitted to Pointe & Partnering.  I have been in three different History classes . . . only one of them the one I signed up for.  I moved from Anatomy for Dancers to Anatomy & Physiology 1.  Which means I now only have Anatomy once a week. . . for four hours. . . starting at six at night. . . not coming back to my dorm until 10:30ish. . . I was moved up a level in ballet (yay! yipee!  woohoo!  six out of seven! yes! i don't totally suck!)  I have met with both of my bosses twice.  I filled out a scary looking tax form that made me realize being a grown up (even in pseudo form) is terrifying.

(basically my face all week/weekend)

I tore through my ballet slippers.  I realized in order to take Pointe and pass, I'd need to be able to afford Pointe shoes.  Dang.  I met a freshmen who I used to dance with.  I started rehearsals.  I've been in three dance department meetings.  I joined a Greek Chorus for the play Medea.  I've iced.  I've held someone's hair while they threw up.  I told a rude freshmen EXACTLY what I thought of his, erm, advances.  I got dressed up and went out.

I felt the heavy strain long distance puts on a relationship.  The way the miles tear at the fibers of the heart as it stretches to cover the distance.  The way doubts slide in like a knife into a sheath, smooth and natural and sharp.

I've given thanks that the person I love and the network that supports us is stronger than the miles are long and steadier than doubts are sharp.

It has been a long first week.  And there have been a couple times when the stress and the pain in my shoulder and the emotions felt overwhelming. . . but in the end, this is who I am.  This is where I flourish, where I'm meant to be.  Dancing, every day.  Working, learning, striving, creating.  I'm most alive when I dance.  I'm a better person because here, in this world, there are people that rely on me.  Count on me.  I have to rise to that.  I never know my own heart better than when it is stretched out before me to see.

Every stressful day after too little sleep and with too much to do, I wake up and thank God for it.

To dance.
To serve the Lord.
To create.
To love a good man, and be loved in return.
To touch someone's heart.

This is what I ask for. . . and in every day of this past crazy week, this is what I've received.  Life is crazy tiring stressful awe inspiring scary  Good.