It seems like more than a week since I've last updated -- I feel like it's been a long time but not that much has really happened. I'm currently caught in the throes of the January blues. I hate, I repeat, I hate this time of the year. I'm convinced that January is the longest month of the year, and just when you think it's over, the same day repeats 28 times. Not to mention it's just kind of gray and cold all the time. Paris allowed me a glance of sunshine Sunday and it just made me miss the sun more.
I've been feeling kind of stuck lately anyway, for no particular reason. I had a fight with the voices in my head on Monday (should I have admitted that?) because the one in particular was not being sympathetic to my plight. Let's just call it the voice of my conscience, shall we? In any case, I was complaining about not going anywhere, and it was like, no, you aren't, the subway is stopped right now. Not helpful, thanks very much dude. However, he has a point -- I'm not really going anywhere right now. My work is to be here, right now. It's not that easy, but I'm working on it.
I actually think I'm not dancing enough -- though it occurred to me today that no matter how much I dance, it's not enough. I had 7 straight hours on Monday and though I was exhausted afterwards, I was ready to go again Tuesday. Of course it comes down to a question of money -- something a little iffy at the present moment, for various reasons. It has to do with transfers.
I will get to the title in a minute, but for a second I'd like to tell a little anecdote. In my ballet class on Monday, my teacher was explaining something and getting on everyone for muscling through everyone. That's not dancing according to him, because anyone can make their body do something with enough training. But anyway, he was talking about wanting to dance, and he said, for me it was never a choice. Everyone says you always have a choice, and of course some people in the class just take it for leisure and work other jobs, but he said, for me I never had the choice, I had to dance.
When he said, I thought, yes. I understood completely. I've been saying for awhile, and I completed identified with him. I don't have a choice. If I had a choice, I'd probably do something different -- the dancer's life is difficult, often uncertain, and taxing. I don't have the years of technique some do. I'm behind on my training. But I mean it when I say I don't have a choice. I can't do anything different. So the only thing I have left is to make it work, somehow.
Cut to Friday night. I was at the Elysée Montmartre, a nightclub in Montmartre, one of the old cabarets. These days it's just a giant room, with two bars surrounded by people shoving for their drinks, and two coat checks that are even more insane. On the night I was there, it was a special "We are the 90's" soirée -- only 90's music! - and was absolutely packed.
Oh great, I thought. I hate clubs like that -- you can't move, it's too hot, the floor sticks, and all you can do is just kind of bop around a bit. Until 5 in the morning? Mmm, not so sure about that.
Then my friend decided to make it her mission in life to get on the stage at one end of the room, where the DJ was and a few VIPs who were bumping and grinding to the delight of the onlookers. So off we went, and she flirted shamelessly with a few people and got us on for about twenty seconds before we were kicked off.
"Come back at four," the guard told us.
4:05, we were back. By this time we were pretty good friends with the dude, and so he went off and talked to someone, and up we went.
Hey, look, room to dance. I don't remember if I had the idea first or if my body just did it -- both are possible, but I decided, hey. I'm a better dancer than anyone up here. I'm classically trained, but I can work it. I learned a bit about showboating from someone this summer and added it into my repertory. So I thought, fine. Let's see what I can do.
Give me about twenty minutes, during which I got warmed up and starting attracting attention -- my friend decided it was too hot and headed off, but I stayed -- and let me put it this way: by the time I was two, probably earlier, I already loved being the center of attention. That's just who I am. Performing. I tell you, I don't have a choice.
The point is, I got myself center stage. I had fans. At one point, I had everyone on the stage around me in a semi-circle clapping. I had people filming me with their cell phones. I had the attention, that is to say, of pretty much the entire club.
I can't tell you how amazing it felt. I've been busy spending my last semester questioning my ability to be a dancer, to join a company, technically, etc. I spend all my time wondering, and I had a hint on Friday night. Not to mention the last time I was on a stage at a nightclub, I was being upstaged by the guy I was with at the time, and while I was happy to let him have the attention at the time, this time there was nobody upstaging me. The stage was mine, and I can tell you, the vindication was pretty sweet.
The view from up there? It was a whole lot of flashing lights, heat and sweat, heads, faces and smiles, hands and arms. The beat, just the beat, the music, and sometimes the strobes blocked my view, so all there was was the music, pounding in my soul, making me move, the kind of deep, fierce joy that makes me smile like a "folle".
No, I don't have a choice. I'm just more alive when I'm dancing. It can't be helped.
The view?
It was good.
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