Well, I can now check another “To Do” off my list. As of two hours ago, I can now say I have danced on a Chicago stage with a professional dance company, Hubbard Street Dance Chicago. My partner was the lovely and talented Shannon Alvis, and I was terrified out of my gord. No one booed, and the people I sat next to said I aquitted myself admirably. Man, I was wiped/sweaty/aching after ten or so minutes, and these people had been going 20 so far with another 10 left. Dang.
Why am I mentioning this here? Because I don’t know of anyone else who would care.
I’m in the middle of a story (see earlier entry) and the emotions pouring out and onto the page are quite scary. I realized on the “L” ride home tonight that most of it is coming straight off of me. Feeling lonely, rejected, at the end of my rope — nothing too frightening but still an ever present dull ache that seems to be enveloping my main character. I’m not getting into the mindset of the character, he’s becoming a much bigger slice of me.
So what was supposed to be hot soap stud sex has turned into mush, mush and more mush. Cuddling. Nekkid skin. And talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.
But, hey, I danced on a Chicago stage with a professional dance company. Hell of a birthday present.
