An Apology

It's been forever since I blogged. I know that. The thing is, I got home and became horribly ill yet again and fell incredibly behind on everything. Then I spent a couple weeks trying to catch up on play practice, dance and other classes. I discovered four new stories living inside me. I began writing two of them.

It's been a hectic few weeks.

Near the end of last week, my grandpa asked me when I was going to start blogging again. I hit myself on the head and told him I'd do it that weekend. True to my word, I started a post. I was so tired that I was falling asleep trying to write it. I put it away and decided to do it later.

Now, on Wednesday, I am finally blogging. I'm blogging to tell you I'm sorry. My life is in tatters right now. My writing is failing. I'm depressed and exhausted. I don't know when I will be blogging again. It will happen. I WILL give you pictures and updates. Just not yet.

In other news, five more sleeps until my braces come off. Unless I take naps, in which case it will be more sleeps.

Naps. How lovely does that sound?

I love you all, and I really am sorry. Please bear with me a little longer.

Denial

                         

                                                                        

(You want to see my REAL handwriting?)

(Oh, really?)

(Yeah, I totally did. Can you read it?

I hardly can, and I WROTE it.)

                      

                                 

(Guilty as charged.)

(If you need me, I'll be doing laundry.)

A Confession

Do you remember this post? If you're too lazy to click the link, (and trust me, you're in good company if you are) it's a post I wrote last month, after my first dance class. I was horrible, and I made a lot of self-deprecating comments, which resulted in a self-examination and finally a resolution to be nice to myself, however poorly I do.

Well, I just came home from dance again, and I have a confession.

I have fallen in love with dance.

I love the music. I love watching other people move to it, and I love feeling myself keep time with them. I even love that burning feeling in my legs, when my muscles start spasming out of control until I simply can't take another step. It isn't like writing. I don't love it that much yet. But it comes closer than any other activity ever has.

It may seem strange for me to feel ashamed of this ... but I kind of do. Here I was, using my suckitude as a metaphor for perseverance and self-confidence ... and I went and got better. I'm actually pretty good now, to tell you the truth. Not as good as the girls who have been doing it for years, but I seem to have at least some talent. Yet another metaphor goes down the drain.

Except ... maybe not. Maybe the lesson has just changed. After all, I never would have come this far if I had been beating on myself like I did at the first class. Sure, I actually did have natural talent. But would I ever have discovered it if I hadn't given myself a chance? Just a little something to think about.

And lest you think I'm getting full of myself, I still can't touch my toes. At all.

I'm working on that.