Waterworks

What with stress and hormones, I had a rough day today and kept crying at the drop of a hat. This is a seriously annoying habit of mine that dates back to my birth; I cry so often that when I was little, my teachers would send me home with notes that said, "No tears today!" because those were pretty momentous occasions. It was especially frustrating because it always looked like I was trying to get attention, but I really was as sensitive as an orchid petal and virtually anything made me burst into tears. Now as an adult-in-training, I know just how inappropriate it is to frequently cry, but I can't control it any better than I could as a kid; the difference being that an adult crying looks manipulative rather than simply attention-seeking. I'm honestly not trying for some kind of effect here! Today I left Biology and after trying to call both of my sisters, I sat on Chapin lawn and cried with my face in my hands because I'm sure I'm going to fail Bio, won't get into graduate school due to mediocre grades, and never become a physical therapist. I thought about how my dream was going to die and it's not like a B.A. in dance makes me qualified for anything! Luckily, this was late afternoon/early evening, so there weren't many people around and I could have a cry in peace, but the worst part about hormonal stress tears is that you feel just as bad afterwards as you did before your crying jag.

I don't want to alarm anybody here; I really am okay and my problems are not nearly as serious as I'm making them sound. Even the part about a degree in dance isn't true; there are tons of (not particularly well-paying) jobs I could get with my future degree. Today everything felt horrible and I was depressed all day and cried in front of my professor AGAIN so now he probably thinks I have some sort of chemical imbalance, but I can fix it. Things will be okay, I will make it work, and if all else fails I can always become a Rolfer or a masseuse. I mostly just wrote this post to put this anecdote in perspective:

Today was a terrible day, but as I was taking a shower I noticed how shapely my calves have become. It's a testament to my incredible vanity that I actually thought, Mediocrity won't be so bad if my legs look hot. 

Musical feels

It's been a rough couple of days. I'm never going to underestimate an unpleasant living situation again, because this one has put me through the mill and it's only been four days. I've been a neurotic wreck in that brief window; even ballet class did nothing to make me feel better. (Incidentally, I started to write about that but it turned into a rant, so I'll put that post on hold.) When I get really upset and I'm far from my family, sometimes I read books that remind me of them, but since my schedule is a little busy I opted to listen to music that reminded me of them instead.

I do that a lot, actually. For instance, at camp over the summer we had really nice Saturday morning breakfasts. It was supposed to be a good send-off for the campers, and everyone did look forward to those breakfasts, but I did not. Everyone's favorite fancy breakfast is a warm, gooey cinnamon roll, so I had to stay up late on Friday night (while everyone else was at the dance party in the lodge) and roll out a hundred-some cinnamon rolls. The next morning, I would get to the kitchen at 6:30 in the morning to proof and bake the rolls, and since that's pretty much a one-person job, I told my fellow cooks to sleep in. It sounds kind of grim and lonely and cold, and it was, but I also kind of loved those mornings when I could ease into the day doing what I loved most, all by myself. As I proofed and baked, I listened to the Avett Brothers and thought about all the mornings I had dragged my mother out of bed so I could get to chorale rehearsals. It made me feel close to her, which turned those solitary mornings into something to look forward to.

This morning I listened to The Roches album A Dove. It's surprisingly hard to find, but the songs are the stuff of my young childhood and that album reminds me of riding in our old red minivan, singing along to tapes. Man that memory dates. It's a really great album, and the Roches truly rock, but it didn't make me feel any less sad. I twitched and moped the day away until after dinner, when I settled in with Songza and my Bio notes to do a little studying. Songza is awesome (and Alice totally invented it) because it lets you choose your music based on what you're doing while you listen. I chose to study to jazz from the 50's and 60's, which is so evocative of my dad that I felt like he was in the room with me, telling me get a grip and identify the sax player. It's pretty awesome that music can have such strong associations, and I have to admit that I feel a lot better.

Smoothing out the wrinkles

Tomorrow is the adjudication for the Bare Bones concert-- for all intents and purposes, a super important audition. I was having mini panic attacks thinking about it, and worrying about it, and worrying that it's Monday evening right now and I forgot to go, and I worked myself up into knots of anxiety when I decided to read my favorite book and take a bath.

I Capture the Castle is a book I keep around just in case I need comfort. Normally when I have a problem I talk to my sisters, but since this isn't a problem that they can help me solve, it makes sense to turn to a book. When I picked it up this weekend I had the happy realization that the character Neil kind of reminds me of my brother-in-law (which is complicated in the context of the plot, but I'm talking about the character alone). I swear I wasn't trying to make that happen, but I'm glad that it did.

Lying in the bath calmed me down significantly, and reading the tail end of the novel completely took my mind off my worries. I consider myself very fortunate that my stress and anxiety is often dispelled by cups of hot tea, guided meditation, or taking a dance class. At the end of such activities I have a fresh perspective and feel at least somewhat revived. It's good to be so easy to please.

Wardrobe malfunction

It's been a rough couple of weeks for me, clothing-wise. My old reliable leotard split its seams...actually quite a while ago, and though I tried to repair them, the fact remained that I was simply too big for this leotard. The splits grew and grew until they finally were large enough to put a hand through (but the stitches I made still held, so good for me). Then I retired the soldier that had served me so well and had to look for a new recruit. (I apologize for the military metaphor; I just finished Monstrous Regiment.) I recently ordered a new leotard which arrived today, but upon opening the package, I discovered that it had been made with medium sized pixies in mind rather than actual medium-sized women. Do ballet dancers just....never have boobs? Because I have yet to find a leotard that helps me on that score. Sure, the stereotype is wicked skinny girls, but most of the ballet dancers I've met do not fit that description. This isn't a body image concern, just a practical issue. Leotards don't fit me, but they are my favorite item of dance apparel. Busty Girl Comics should tackle the issue so I'll at least find it funny.

Then, this past week, I discovered that my favorite pants had a rip on the inner thigh that was most unladylike. Since I tend to sit with my legs wide apart, I knew that this issue would have to be remedied, so this morning, I sewed up the rip. Not twenty minutes later, another rip right below where I ha sewed opened up again! I am distressed! I thought the whole point of buying high-quality clothes was that they lasted longer. What gives? (Not my pants, apparently.) It's very disappointing when your nicest pants become your raggedy pants. I want to look neat and tidy, not sloppy, but apparently my clothing has other ideas.

Insecure Monday

I mentioned this towards the end of my last post, and I want to discuss it now. I'm trying to find my place at Smith and figure out who I am and what I'm good for and all that jazz, but while I definitely feel like a Smithie, I don't feel like a dance major. Technically I'm still undeclared, but come on now. I love my classes and my professors, and I want to take all the dance classes ever, but something isn't right. 

As for the ESS minor, forget about that. I belong in that department about as much as I belong on the athletics fields. When I tell people that I'm an ESS minor, I feel like I'm lying to them. 

And here's why. 

I have this idea that each department has a particular type of person that is best suited for that particular area of study. I realize that I'm stereotyping, but writing out this post is just intended for me to organize my thoughts. If I offend anyone, I apologize. 

To resume. The dance department, interesting and wonderful though the classes may be, is full of people who think things about dance that really don't resonate with me. I'm sure I could steer myself towards more conscientious behavior while in class, but I am taking Musical Theater Dance. It's sometimes hard to ponder the head-tail connection while I'm pretending to be a showgirl. God knows that's hard enough for me. 

I keep thinking that I'm trying to be at least four different people at different points throughout my day. In Comp and Sci Fi, I'm trying to be analytical and deep about not only dance but movement. In Kinesiology, I'm trying not to make an ass of myself. (At this point that's really the best I can strive for.) In Jazz, I'm just really uncomfortable with awkward movements that I don't feel feminine enough to execute properly. In French class, I feel like I'm missing something, but more often, a lot of things; not the right style, attitude, not talkative enough, not confident enough, not understanding enough of what my professor is saying. 

This is especially weird because I think of myself as a relatively self-assured person. My classes have just been making me hella insecure about life lately, and I'd like to know what gives.