And so it begins ...

I felt so incredibly sad upon Patrick Swayze's passing. I think if there is anyone I would love to have partnered me -- when I actually was performing -- it would have been him, hands down. The last time I did perform was some 14 years ago. I'd had cancer myself, and had already retired from the dance company several months prior to my diagnosis. But when a lead dancer was injured and I was asked if I felt up to pitching in, I foolishly agreed to do so. I wanted to show everyone I was okay. I was doing relatively well-- as a lay person -- but not as a dancer, and it was unwise to put that kind of stress on my still healing body, all to show everyone I was going to be okay after all.

Patrick's passing occurred at a point where I've been having a pretty tough time of it myself, although not in any way noticeable to passers-by. I won't dwell on any of that tonight, except to say that since May 2008, I've been dealing with a far greater challenge -- both medically and financially - than cancer presented to me. On top of that(and largely because of that), I've been working a disproportionate number of hours at my "bread and butter" job when I yearn to spend far more time in various creative ventures.

What that means is that to make room for it all, I am overextended. I love teaching my pre-school ballerinas. And I love writing features for the local magazine. But due to the exponential nature of post-Katrina expenses which include a home mortgage that is topsy turvy, along with noncovered/ongoing/astronomical medical costs, I now work the lion's share of my day in a dysfunctional setting. It is purgatory. Actually, that's being kind. It's hell, except that I believe in some degree of optimism, and since hell is eternal, I don't dare really assign it that status. To do that would put me over the edge.

And since I don't want to go over the edge, I've decided to put one more thing on my crowded plate: to return to the dance company. I don't know if I can do it. I don't know how long I can do it. I don't know if they will even find me of value to them. But, I seem to be pulled in that insane direction at the moment, and so it is.

Last night, I returned home at 11:17 p.m., after a 3-hour commute to/from New Orleans, 7 hours at the aforementioned dysfuntional setting, 2 hours of ballet teaching, and 3 hours of class/rehearsal. I deliriously poached myself a salmon steak, had a glass of wine, watched a bit of Masterpiece Theater on DVD, and collapsed into bed. I awoke 6-1/2 hours later, wondering who/where I was, and sporting quite an array of angry bruises. Somehow, I pulled it together -- breakfast, commuting, working at the purgatorial firm, and finding my way back home, wishing tomorrow were Saturday instead of Friday. Then again, since the next rehearsal is Saturday, maybe I just wish there were an 8th day of the week I could insert as a mental/physical/spiritual health day.

Am I crazy? Very likely so. But, hear this: "There is a bit of insanity in dancing that does everybody a great deal of good."