Not The Type

Authoress Note: The following is meant to be an open letter of encouragement.  It can be applied to any wholesome dream you have, though it’s obviously going to be geared towards dance  For those that don’t know, my dancing has taken a huge hit lately with Tommy’s absence.  And I’m afraid it’s gotten worse because I can say with great certainty that he’s not coming back this time, unlike his previous leave of absence.  Why the people at the studio have never said “He’s/She’s gone.” is something that continually baffles me.  We’re all adults there, so we don’t need to know why, just that it’s happened.  Whatever their reasons, I refuse to try to comprehend it anymore.  Onto the post.

This is dedicated to all the men and women of the US Armed Forces.  Anyone that places their life on the line to keep us safe, regardless of personal character or motivation, has my eternal gratitude.  If the good Lord didn’t have other plans for me, I would’ve been honored to be among you.  Now, I dedicate my pen to you whenever I can.


 

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The Scoop

photo by snowpea&bokchoi (flickr)

photo by snowpea&bokchoi (flickr)

I’ve been procrastinating with this blog of mine because I feel like all the life has been sucked out of my dancing.  If that suffers, so does my writing.  Fortunately, my sense of professionalism compels me to update more than once a month (read: sarcasm).  I’d like to get back to updating once a week.  But, I’m not sure when that’s going to happen given my job search, so please continue to bear with me.  Things have been hard lately dance-wise.

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Honing Versatility

I have a confession to make.  I’ve had two potential posts swirling around in my mind’s eye for a couple of days.  The reason I haven’t put one of these up until now is because I’ve been dealing with teacher withdrawal.  Yep, Tommy has taken a leave of absence from the studio again.  As of yesterday, he’s been gone three weeks.  *Sigh*  Last time this happened, he was gone six weeks.  I hope and pray we don’t push that.  Que sera, sera.

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These Tricky Emotions

This picture of me at The Mob Museum is an apt representation of how I feel about this particular truth: not happy.

It was something I always knew.  I never tried to deny it.  Perhaps it was almost too obvious, so well blended into my dancing that it didn’t bother me.  Unfortunately, the emotional force behind this just hit me a couple of days ago.  Now, I feel the need that every writer feels.  The need that says “Come hell or high water, I have to write about this.  Like, right now.”  This blog is largely positive and personal.  It will remain that way, but I will not stifle my emotions.  I’m going to pour my heart on the page and have no regrets.

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Graduation

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Graduate

That’s right; I graduated from university today cum laude!  My degree is in Journalism & Mass Communication with a minor in Philosophy.

“What’s next?”  Everybody has asked that.  Here’s my answer: I don’t know.  What I want to do most right now is rest.  Even my mother recommended that I take a small break before looking for work.  “Why not go straight into journalism, like be a news anchor or something?”  I’ll elaborate more in the next post, but journalism isn’t my let’s-get-right-to-it-passion.  For now, let’s say that I knew I had the option to start working when I turned eighteen.  However, my parents wanted me to go to college, though they didn’t mandate it.  I prayed, asking the good Lord what I should do.  He quickly responded: I was going to college.  I wasn’t unhappy because I knew I’d thrive in college, and I did.

Thank you to all my readers for sharing this blog with me.  It’s definitely been therapeutic at times.  As for its future, I want to continue it.  But, the family is in the middle of a move, and there’s trying to find a job, too.  I’m sure I’ll find a way to balance a job and writing this blog.

Until next time friends,

Alaina

No Chore, No Bore

 

I never liked PE.  We had to run laps which increased as the semester progressed.  I “excused” myself more than once to the restroom to wait out the running.  We never played a specific sport, more like quirky games.  That meant more running, not to mention dexterity I had yet to develop.  An MVP I was not.  Had there been an option to choose team members, I would’ve been one of the last ones.  Hmph, if this was what an athlete was, I wanted no part of it.  The story was identical for middle school and most of high school.  I made myself run cross-country for three years during that period.  Whether I legitimately wanted to love it or subconsciously hated myself is an unsolved myself.  I only recently discovered that a huge part of consistent exercise was finding one’s niche.

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Tommy’s Reminder

“Grr!  Ugh!”  More noises of frustration slipped through my lips as I continued my rumba walks.  These walks, like its Cuban motion counterpart, were something I had repeated meticulously whenever I had the chance.  Up and down the long walls every practice.  I thought it had gotten better, but DP’s constant corrections increased my doubts.  A little adjustment there.  A sound indicating erroneous movement.  A tweak of my standing leg.  Where in bleep had all the progress gone?!  I knew I could never reach perfection, but did it have to seem so Sisyphean?  I was crying internally from exasperation.  To make matters worse, those tears were threatening to spill outwardly.  (I hate crying in front of people.)  DP noticed and took me aside for a pep talk.

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