Bad News Blues.

Gggggrrrrrr!  I was feeling really good about life yesterday: I seemed to have a handle on all the things I'd need (new character shoes, a proper backless dance bra, etc.) for "Aida," and begun setting some money aside.  I was feeling as though all my hardwork was paying off, that when the show ended and work ended and I had a week "off," and could start rearranging, decluttering, and packing up for school, I'd have enough money to buy the things I needed and still have some in the bank for you know, food.  Nothing extravagant did I plan to buy.  The textbooks I'd need.  A daily planner (yes, I still use one of those paper ones.  I live out of it) a mirror for my bedroom, a new pair of jazz pants.  Maybe even some new pens.

I remembered the last expense I was worried about: the trackpad on my beloved MacBook Pro has been acting funky.  I didn't want to make it worse, so I carefully tucked it inside its TWO (read that again, folks: TWO.  T-w-o.  1 +1.  Mulptiple) neoprene cases and set it aside until I had made enough money to be sure I could cover the cost to repair.  Of course my aunt had generously bought me my laptop as a graduation/going away/birthday present the summer before I started college and with it she got the maximum warranty. . . which has naturally, at this point, expired.

So yesterday when I pulled out my laptop from the shelf where it had been lovingly wrapped and storred for the past several weeks (I've been using Boyfriend's laptop - he's very good at sharing) I figured I'd just double check exactly what was going on so I could tell the nice people at Apple (who've helped me out before, for free, on very expensive repairs) my specific issues.

I opened up my laptop and promptly felt the urge to vomit.  Or faint.  Or possibly cry.  Who am I kidding?  I wanted to do all three at once.  Instead I sat there with a look of frozen horror on my face until Boyfriend turned around to ask "What's the matter?"  "My screen," I managed to squeak out in a voice that wouldn't disturb a sleeping mouse.  Because somehow, folks, my twice-protected-stored-on-a-shelf laptop has a broken screen.  We're not talking a little crack here folks.  We're talking full on, looks like it was stepped on smashed.  The tiny cracks radiate out from the camera in the top center of the screen and three long thin spidery legs extend to three out of four of the corners.  I have no idea how it happened.  Not. A. Clue.  My warranty expired just very recently.  I'm not sure how much it's going to cost to repair.  I do know I absolutely NEED my laptop, and need it in top working order if I'm going to tackle the madness that is the upcoming semester.  I also know it's time to say goodbye to those new pens, daily planner, tights, etc.  A mirror in my room is not a necessity.  A functioning laptop is.

I - well, Boyfriend, I was a wee bit too distressed - set up an appointment for a little later this afternoon to have my poor pathetic busted little laptop looked at.  I'm going in for an estimate, to find out how much it will cost to ship out the little guy and have his screen replaced, as well as that darn trackpad problem.

I know it's only money, and I know I'm very lucky because I will be getting my laptop fixed (Boyfriend may be chipping in as my Anniversary present).  I know these are first world pains. . . but guys.

I'm just so upset.  Thus I will be going for a quick run and then a good, hot shower (I know it's a million degrees out, but HOT showers are the soothing kind, don't you think?).  Maybe listen to my ipopd on full blast for awhile.  What about you guys?  When unexpected stress crashes into your lap, how do you deal?

One Amazing Week Ends, Another Begins.

What. A. Week!  Since last Monday, life has been nonstop madness - in a beautiful, chaotic sort of way.  We started adding in costumes and quick changes to "Aida."  We had a full week of camp, with lots of campers very eagerly joining us for fun and play.  Instead of going back to Boyfriend's Friday night per usual, I stayed at Mum's and enjoyed the Opening Ceremonies (I'm an o-b-s-e-s-s-i-v-e Olympics fan, and have been since the age of two when my mom turned it on in the background, thinking it would put me to sleep and woke several hours later to me glued to some sort of swimming event) because Saturday, I was filming a music video for an experimental/electronic/indie artist. One of my friends who goes to school in Philly film making and is interning in NYC for the summer got the job, and decided I was the perfect "girl that got away," for the music video.  It was awesome working with him and another good friend of ours, both boys I've known since we were in diapers together.

There's nothing like looking at someone and saying "I remember when you still peed your pants all the time," is there?

Then today was "Newspaper Day," at "Aida," with photographs being taken and interviews being conducted and sneak peaks of certain scenes and songs being granted. Tomorrow Boyfriend has this silly idea that we're going to spend the day in together, just hanging around being bums. . . haven't got the heart to tell him I have a phone meeting with my advisor among many other things to do tomorrow. . . then Tuesday is appointments, rehearsal, back to Mum's house to start rehearsals & work as the usual evil duo.  It's all worth it for this Friday night though!  I get to see My Boys - my two wonderful, silly, ridiculous, talented, obnoxious friends who just graduated in May and are essentially my main headache and two of my biggest joys - perform an amazing Shakespeare piece on the Boston Commons.  Right after work Mum and I are driving down and making an evening of it!

The next day it's back to Beantown for a professional Lacrosse game with Boyfriend, his dad, and one of his brothers.  Sunday kicks off Hell Week (more on that later) in addition to another mad work week.

Phew!  Can't wait.

My Victory Dance In A Little White Dress.

As those of you who've been reading my blog this summer surely are aware, I've been on a health kick.  As in a serious, hardcore, crazypants health kick.  I finally got myself all motivated to be in the best shape I can, to reclaim my athlete's body from the injuries and apathy it's endured.  I've been working really hard to maintain a healthy diet, exercise (beyond my normal bajillion hours a week dancing), rest, etc.  Last night, I felt my first real pay off, and let me tell you it was amazing.


When I got to rehearsal, it was recommended that we try as many of our quick costume changes as possible during the rehearsal (we were running the whole show, beginning to end, for the very first time.  Always an exciting step!) which made sense, since this is how the show goes for me:

Lights come up. Walk on stage.  Change clothes. Dance. Change clothes.  Back to back scenes.  Change entire costume in less than 30 seconds. Dance Again. Change Back. Dance and Sing. Dance-Change-No-Scene-Between-Dance-Change-No-Scene-Between-Dance-Solol-Sit-On-Stage-Gasping-For-Air. Change. Sing.  Dance. Sing. Intermission.

You get the picture.

Well my first change is from this beautiful, snow white, skin tight dress with pretty white character heels into a tattered slave dress.  In a few seconds.  While in motion.  I've been doing this stuff for so long, that actual changing didn't really phase me. . . but that first dress did.  See, it was the only thing anywhere near my size in the costume closet when we went to our fittings about two and a half weeks ago.  When I tried it on, I had to wiggle and wriggle and fidget and suckitinsuckitinsuckitintight to get the damn thing on, and we didn't think there was ANY way I could possibly do a quick change in and out of it, so the costume designer and I agree to keep our eyes peeled for another dress that would fit the bill.  Needless to say, neither of us found anything else and last night I found myself face-to-frills with that evil white dress. Praying I wouldn't split a seam, I began to wriggle my way into it's unforgiving, clingy embrace. To my surprise, the dress still didn't fit - it was now too loose.  Thats right, folks I had the most wonderful of mercies wiggle room.  Aaaahhh, success!

I proceeded to jump up and down, whip my hair back and forth, do the running man, and otherwise embarrass myself in sheer glee.  Every time I think about it, I want to start to dance again!  In order to fit into that dress, I've not only been alternating running and weight lifting (in addition to morning stretching, midday pilates, and dancing four days a week for several hours), stopped eating any carbohydrate that isn't 100% whole wheat and stopped eating those past seven, upped my intake of fish, limited sweets/fattening foods to once a week, cut back on red meat, avoided produce that isn't both local and organic, stopped eating at 9 pm come hell or high water, tripled my daily water in take, started meditating, and upped how many times a day I eat.

All for that white dress - and I'm not even getting married.

Dancing On My Grave

The autobiography "Dancing On My Grave," tells the story of Gelsey Kirkland, one of the foremost ballerina's of a generation.  On her slender shoulders the weight of New York City Ballet was placed during it's - and her - formative years.  Her story is one of artistry, passion, commitment, struggles,  and triumph and is one I read years ago, in high school.  Now I am rereading it for a college class and right on the very first page, one paragraph in I was reminded why I love this book, how clearly her voice speaks to me through the pages and through my fingertips and eyes and right into my heart.  Here is a quote from the first page:

"When I was still young enough to catch fireflies and collect them in a jar, I already possessed my own inner world of dancing lights and fantastic creatures, an imaginary world where dreams were kindled.  Like the character of Clara. . . in the ballet 'The Nutcracker,' I fell for the beauties of the night.  I experienced dreams as if they were real, unable to distinguish them from the world outside my mind."

This was my experience exactly, captured in ink and paper and prose.  I'm so delighted to be delving back into this book!

Happy and Healthy.

I got back from rehearsal at about 11:45 tonight.  I was tired, but neither exhausted nor cranky- and my mood was only going to get better.  Waiting for me was a package containing my new Nikes!  Not the nicest or the best - honestly, they were the cheapest I could find - but new and comfortable and holding promise of an early morning jog tomorrow.  I was absolutely chipper as I headed into my late-night routine: making lunch for tomorrow, setting out breakfast, unpacking from rehearsal, changing for bed, pilates or yoga or meditating in some combination and of course this blog.

As I brushed my teeth, I realized something: I'm taking care of myself.  I am making myself healthy and nourished and strong, body-mind-spirit.  I've always known how to tend myself.  I've known the steps to take, the way along the healthy-living path.  But I've never committed to truly doing it for myself.  Now I am, and I feel the difference.  The way my body responds to me, the joy that sleeping is, the ease which waking comes with.  The slowly changing shape of my body, as the Athlete reappears from beneath the Patient.  I laugh easier and smile longer and am living a life that feels full and rounded, content and peaceful and rhythmic but never stagnant.

I love my tea in the mornings.  My stretching in the evenings.  My time in my own mind to express, devoted to this little blog.  My muscled calves and daily, varied fruit salads for lunch.  This is nourishing yourself, and it's wonderful.  I recommend everyone give it a try!

Introducing . . .

So when I planned out writing everyday for the summer, one of the things I really wanted to do was introduce folks who read/might read my blog to the amazing Cast of Characters that makes up my life.  I am incredibly blessed by the people I get to share my world with.  They are passionate, silly, creative, loyal, adventurous, loving, honest, and a host of other wonderful things.  I know that sometimes when I go to write about something that has happened in my life, the story would be so much richer if the folks reading it only knew the people I shared the experience with.

And of course, everything is compounded by my tendency to use pet names and nicknames instead of people's actual names, which can make things confusing.  I do it to protect people's identities and stories, so they can choose what they want the whole interweb to know about them: as so very many of the people in my life are performers and artists, what happens when you search them online becomes very important to their very livelihood!  I would never want to take away any sense of control they have over that.  So. . . I use nicknames.  I'm really excited by the idea of introducing these amazing people so there are faces, stories, and personalities attached to the nicknames and pseudo-names in the blog.

Without any further ado, here is my first Introduction!  Who better to start with than Boyfriend?

  

{This is him & I on Christmas Eve 2011}

I'm not entirely sure how to fit everything about him - and us - into one post.  At least not one post that's a length anyone wants to read!  We met in a gym. Yup. A gym.  He was going to the gym with his at-the-time-roommate and I was teaching a kids martial arts class in one of the rooms.  It wasn't exactly love at first sight - he wanted information on classes, and became a student long before becoming my Boyfriend.  

Then The Summer happened - The Summer when me, Mum, Sissy, and the Kid (my little brother, for those not in the know) grabbed our dog and all the things we held most dear and fled.  We left the house I'd spent everyday of my life in, the house Kid was born, the house where we'd all been abused and traumatized for 20 years. . . and we fled the state.  During this time of crisis not-yet-Boyfriend was the truest, the loyalist, and the dearest of friends, talking to me everyday at every opportunity, cheering me up as I tried to face the unknown with courage.  Eventually he and I were in the same state again, and we began spending almost everyday together.  Baseball games, watching movies, perusing bookstores. . . couple stuff. But see, I'd never been (gasp) part of a couple before, and I didn't realize what was going on until the night we first kissed.

Then I figured it out.  Duh, Lela.  Duh.

It's been almost three years since then, and Boyfriend is also Best Friend, geek out buddy, shoulder to cry on, protector, and other assorted ridiculous roles that I, a ridiculous person, require filled.

He is more conservative than I am - politically, emotionally, socially.  Tall and dark, he doesn't often jump into conversation and rarely makes waves.  He's a martial artist by passion (and hopeful career) a computer science geek by major, and a musician by talent.  He's my Anchor - my home base, my safety.  He reminds me I have to stop and sleep, that I can't survive on Luna Bars, water, and air, that smelling the roses is in fact a necessity.  He demands of me that I stick up for myself the way I've always stuck up for others, and promises shelter and nurturing in arms that are strong and always ready to receive me.  I am his Adventure, dragging him from the house, insisting he try new things, finding the edges of the comfort zone and then dancing just beyond them.  I introduce him to new foods, museums and musicals and colorful, exuberant people.  We balance and push and expand each other, filling in the little crevices that make us more whole.

I love his dark eyes and his black hair that has the subtlest red sheen in the summer sunlight.  His strong hands that rub my back and have never failed to open the door, laced across the back with tiny thin white scars and callused on the palm/fingers but often playing with his toddler brother.  I love his expansive families that love me too, and the fact that there was never a day I've been with him where I was worried I had to be anything other than myself.  I love the sound of him fiddling on his guitar with more skills than people who call themselves "musicians," write songs and the way he knows the lyrics to "Grease," and loves the composition of "The Phantom of the Opera," but his favorite bands include "Megadeath," and "Coheed and Cambria."

Simply put, when I am with him, I'm home. And there is no better place to be. 

Aurora.

Rather than fill up this space tonight with talk of my job, or rehearsal, or instagramed pictures I'd like to offer my prayers to all those impacted by the massacre in Colorado. My heart aches for the victims and their families, innocent people whose lives have been torn asunder.

There are no words for the horror, and so I will not try in vain to find them.

Instead I find myself holding Boyfriend's hand a little tighter, leaning into kisses a little longer. Making sure my little brother knows I love him and that I keep my patience with the camp kids. Days like this remind us all how quickly life can be taken away, and I know no better tribute to the fallen than to live fully, truly, an honestly.

May each victim of senseless crime today and any day Rest In Peace.