Especially you, Ms. Cotta

Ok. So now I can freely speak. You have had SO many "career-enders." And I know that is part of the frustration and anger but it also shows that you get beyond them. You have talent, passion and persistence beyond anyone I know. This is your goal. This is your dream. Your dream just needs to remain fluid until you find where your body fits in. Just keep working at improving what is within your control and accepting what is not. Then you can find a way to make the "unacceptable" work. If anyone can do this, you can. Honey, all the great dancers have their struggle story...grow a very thick skin. Don't let anyone stand in the way of your dream. Your dream dies only when you choose to walk away. No one can take it from you unless you allow them.


I will never choose to walk away. I fear that the day when I am picked up and carried away is approaching, and I am nowhere near ready for it. 


The text that prompted all of those beautiful things my mother said - "Mom, I just want to be able to do what I'm supposed to do, but I can't because I have a crappy body that can't do a thing. At all. And it's career ending. And I'm sick and tired of fighting so damn hard and never doing it...my hips, my back, my shoulders, my butt. My silver lining is my pretty eyes but they don't help me dance."


Where that exploded from - and if you know anything about me, you have got to know that I mean business with this project from everything I'm about to say - about two weeks ago, my back started up again. Waking up stiff as a board with absolutely no movement capability in your spine is always fun, especially when your life is dancing. I kept pushing though. Then, that unexplainable pain in my lower right hand side of my back, right where that dimple is, suddenly becomes unbearable - and that's coming from someone who can handle a lot when it comes to pain. It hurts to walk, and there I am still attempting to manage huge leaps without grimacing so my professors won't catch on. "This is what it's going to be like. Even if this isn't the end, this is the beginning of it. This is how you're going to go down."


I freak myself out enough to want to get checked, but don't have the time, except maybe for a 1am hospital trip alone, in Philadelphia...no thanks. So I keep pushing. It's a little better now...mostly.


Then, I read this article. This infuriating, obnoxious, narrow-minded article that is primarily attacking Bill T. Jones. As if that wasn't bad enough, then she has the audacity to go after me. "I can deal with scoliotics." Excuse me? So that was actually a debate for you at some point. You actually thought that because my bones are screwed up, I shouldn't be put on stage. For a second, that was in your brain. Awesome. Well guess what lady, I have a whole lot to say about that which I am uncomfortable writing in this space. I sure hope we meet someday. How dare you.


Then rehearsal, and I get another, "You're trying too hard," correction on top of "You're all in your shoulders." 


HOIENAPWEOIH3298#@#%U(*#UAHORIHOIEH$(#*$523!!!!!!!


I know. I know. I know. I KNOW. 
What I don't know is how to fix it.


Here's the thing, I have had to fight my entire life, tooth and nail, flesh and blood, skin and bones for this ridiculous passion I was born with. It's absolutely cruel that I was born to love nothing more than dance but to be given such a damned vehicle of expression. Torture. So, I don't know how not to try too hard. The second I let go, something goes out of whack. My turnout turns in. My back does whatever the hell it wants. My ribcage protrudes out to California. My elbows hyperextend. I cannot not try. I don't understand how it's possible. My body doesn't get it.


And I don't feel this freaking shoulder thing.


Then I wake up this morning and my left hip is stuck. My right already cracks and pops like crazy. I'm positive I have arthritis in there, I just don't want the X-rayed confirmation. That'll be my 8th confirmed arthritic joint. Reminder - I'm only 21. But today, Christ Almighty that left hip would not move. It was so incredibly painful. If it would just pop, I might have a shot. But no matter how many awkward and vicious positions I contorted myself into, it refused to release. Doris Humphrey had to retire because of arthritis in her hip, but she was much older...


It actually affected my dancing today. I could not lift that leg right. It hurt way too much. So, my butt had to get in on the action and if you know anything about classical technique at all, it's that you never lift your leg with your ass. So of course I got called out on it. As if I wasn't miserable enough with this prison I've been doomed to. Let's make sure everyone in the class knows I'm a disaster. Awesome.


Relax your hip flexer. 
You should do pigeon more. It'll relax your hip flexer and loosen your butt. (Way to draw attention to my big butt...again. Awesome.)


At that point I was just relieved that the stretch I was in could hide my tears. I don't know how to make anyone understand and I am sick and tired of making excuses. I don't need to do more pigeons. It won't help. I do thousands of them every day. What I need is more time. I need a new body. One that isn't on its way out.


This isn't fair. And it isn't fair that I don't know how to feel about it. On the one hand, he's completely right because no matter what I've been given, I've got to figure out how to make it conform and look like what it's supposed to. But on the other hand, I'm dealing with a lot, every single day. I just want a few hours in a "normal" body to see if it hurts like mine. To compare the struggles. To see if I'm as abnormal as I've been trained to know I am. 


No dancing tonight. My hip is still stuck. So until that fixes itself...here I'll sit. Angry, scared and...well...scared.

Reflection

I feel a little bit like I'm fighting myself and I'm not winning. It's funny, my Grama always said I did that and that it made no sense. "If you're going to fight yourself, you might as well win."

If only I knew how.

It's to the point where I can't admit what's wrong. I am very nearly positive that I know what it is, but I can't really be that stupid so I can't say it. If I say it, it's real, and the "I told you so's," will be never ending.

Why can't I lose weight? I'm scared to death of going on stage in this belly shirt in two weeks. I have been at the gym almost every day. I'm not eating as much. I'm eating better. I just don't want to be the fat one on stage. So, until then, if I could walk around in a sports bra all day every day to get myself used to whatever I'm going to be, I would. I wish this isn't what I was going to be.

You know that scene in Black Swan, the night before her opening show when she's in the studio rehearsing and the pianist ditches her, saying, "I have a life." And then her reflection creepily looks at her when the lights go out. Aside from the insane, creepy reflection, I feel like that. I feel obsessed. I don't want to do papers anymore. I don't want to do busy work. I don't want to run shows. I want to be dancing, in the gym or reading about something pertaining to a piece I'm creating. I'm tired of work. I'm tired of school. I'm tired of laundry. I'm tired of the emails and text messages and phone calls. I'm tired of waiting for the only phone call I really want. I'm tired of anything but figuring out what's going on in my dance life.

Am I regressing?

I think I'm avoiding dealing with what's going on in my life outside of dance by attempting to disappear into dance. Not attempting, successfully disappearing. But, I can't find what's wrong about that. It's what I'm supposed to do, right?

I really don't know.

Off to class and two rehearsals...and work...

http://m.youtube.com/index?client=mv-google&desktop_uri=%2F&gl=US&rdm=4o0pyi0yi#/watch?v=ecIQ9e-bGB0

Not Mine

Loved it. Every word.


I read a few entries and had to put it down. I felt like, "Oh this is her journal. I shouldn't be reading this."


You are doing so wonderfully. I love reading the layers of your discovery. It seems like you feel worse and worse as you confront it more real and more real. You're finding a way out though. Love you. Forever impressed!


...when I watched a couple of your YouTube videos I couldn't get over a) how much your movement quality is different from what you do in class and you look completely different b) how it looked more like what I do emotionally c) I take videos of myself dancing the way you do - except the only difference is I'm afraid to show the world....your improv with the T-shirt is similar to what I do (feel myself emotionally in my own space...) except I'll be the only one to watch the video...made me think.


Ya, me too...

Moved

Sometimes, you just see something and you have no choice - you have to dance with it.


Or maybe that's not true for everyone. 


Maybe that's just me.


I have no words tonight. I don't need any. 


This says it all.


http://www.youtube.com/user/csqt10?feature=mhee

There's this picture of a little boy and a little girl kissing

and I really, really want to take my coffee and chuck it as hard as I can at it. They should know that isn't how it works.

It isn't real. Love. It can't happen. Those movies aren't real.

I know.

Finally got some feedback from class today -
Stop saying no. You need to learn how to play. There's this little voice inside your head that wants everything to be perfect. You need to turn that off. Throw it away and play.

Right. Perfectionist me, who was trained to know everything that is wrong and right and trained only to do everything exactly right or get screamed at for doing it wrong, I'm going to be able to let that go and play. And the worst part is - I really, really thought I was already. I have been letting go. I'm not pointing my feet. I'm rolling on the floor. I'm falling. I look like an idiot 90% of the time. For God's sake I did an entire improv based off of Superman, Spiderman, Peter Pan, Batman and the Karate Kid, and I'm still not playing enough?!

The real kicker is that I know she's absolutely right. I just have no idea how to get there. That same voice is what's stopping me in so many other areas of my life too. "No, don't put your nose on her, she might not like that." "No, don't throw your weight there. What if you can't catch it?" "Come on Cassandra, be realistic. There is no way in hell that your leg is going to go there." "You want to call and yell and scream? Probably shouldn't. What if something bad happens?" How do I let go and play? How do I just be me in the moment - whatever that is?

There is no wrong. If you want to shake your ass, then go on and shake your ass.

But I was taught to be something else. I had to be skinny. My foot had to point perfectly, always. Not being able to kick myself in the face was always going to be an issue. Better be able to do at least a triple or no one is going to want to work with you. And if you don't show people what you have, how in the world are they ever going to know you're a good dancer? Even the way I'm thinking about this is wrong, and I know that. But I don't know how to shut it off. My brain is going through it all and just trying to find its way out. "Okay, so on Thursday I'm going to go in there, and I won't move at all...that'll show her that I don't need to be perfect. Or maybe I'll just crawl on my hands and knees. Or what if I just ran up and down the stairs a billion times?" NO! None of that is going to work because that isn't what she's asking you to do! She's asking you to stop doing this, this right here. Quit being academic about it. Stop believing you can reason it all out, because you can't. That isn't what it's about...

Which is something profound about life that I think I need to work through too.

Ken sent me this beautiful quote about hope a few weeks back...I don't have it on hand at the moment but its message is perfect. It was basically saying that hope is a terrible thing because it makes you dwell in future plans. What we should recognize is that we can't control what's going to happen. It's going to happen whether we like it or not, so instead of hoping for something, how about we just live in this very moment as fully as we can? Seeing it and feeling it for what it is, with no expectations for a future version of it. I hated it when he first gave it to me, because hope was all I had, and it's all I wanted to have. I get it now. Not fully, I'm sure, but a little more at least. I'm never going to be all of those things I was "supposed" to be. Life isn't going to be what it was "meant" to be. Time to start dealing with what I am. Time to figure out how to play with what I've got.

I've nothing to prove. Not a thing.

19 Stars

My face is blotchy and my eyes are a bright turquoise. It's the first thing I noticed when I walked into the bathroom and you know what? I don't care. I'm owning up to it. Yup, that's right everyone, I was crying. I am a sad, broken little girl and I was crying just like a sad, broken little girl should be. Stupid, I know. Pathetic, definitely. But I am living this project now, and that's what I've got.

And you all think my eyes are pretty normally. You should see them when my face is bright red and full of tears. Seriously, they turn turquoise.

I felt it happening, the tears bubbling up from my toes. Here I am, walking on campus, crying once again. Seriously, there should be some kind of article written about me and the number of people who have seen me on the phone with my mom in tears walking down Liacouras Walk. It's absurd. Especially for someone who hates crying.

So I climbed the stairs of Anderson Hall, up to the roof deck where there's that pitiful square of grass that attempts to be a park or something. I laid down, looked up, and by God, there were stars. 19 of them. Ya, I counted. I laid there in that grass, in the quiet solitude, with nothing but the stars and my tears and realized, I have no idea what I'm doing. Sometimes I think you all know who I am more than I do. I think that's why I've been spending so much time alone lately. I've come to terms with the fact that when I'm associating myself with others, I know exactly who I am, how I act, what I think and what I feel. But if I'm ever left in a room with only myself for company, all of that disappears. It's weird, and I'm wondering if that's abnormal. It's got to be right? I've got to figure out how to be comfortable with myself in relation to myself.

Besides the very evident fact that I need to stop relying on others because finding reliable people these days has proven to be something of a very nearly impossible task.

Transience. I need that.


I'm overwhelmed with everything I've set in motion for myself. All of the tasks at hand, and the dreams and goals and people. But at the same time, I don't feel as though I'm doing enough. I don't know how that's possible. Literally, I wake up at 6 or 7 every morning, typically leave the house by 8 and definitely won't get back until about 9 or 10pm at the earliest. And almost every hour, I have something extremely specific to be doing. How do I think I can be doing more? I asked my mom if I was crazy and she told me yes. Joking of course, but still...

 I hate you. You're so honest and it's awesome. And I know you don't think it's awesome, but I really do. And you do it so easily. Not just with yourself, but with everybody.


You know why I love you? Because you don't let on. You're going to go into that rehearsal and no one is going to know that anything is wrong. 


One day, you'll think it's awesome too.

.danger.

Dangerous. That's what he told me to be. That's what he said this needed. Put it all out there. I thought I already was. So how far can I go before I break? Where is the edge and how close can I get?

I think I tapped it today. I may have gone over it. I feel. Broken.

Dangerous. The point of this was to live the dance and dance the life. So if the dance needs to do more, I need to do more. If it needs danger, I need danger.

Deep breath. Okay.

I started to try it. I was in the studio until 11 last night, thinking, writing and improvising. I danced to music, as usual, but this time I spoke the entire time, and I allowed my words to control and create the movement. It was different. Stripped down. Raw. I'm torn about posting it. Put my life on the line for the sake of my art and this quest for honesty or maintain what little security I have and break some rules? I think art should win because it is inevitable that what I said will surface, but I don't think that's how it should surface, for many people. We'll see how I feel by the end of writing this.

Put a dunce cap on me and stick me in a corner. I feel that kind of dumb. Today was stupid, and highlighted all the work I still have to do. Such a small miscommunication, blown up so hugely, and only in my head. All of the possibilities. All of the conclusions. All of the scenarios I created. And the validity I was given to be as outrageously upset as I was. It made zero sense to me, and it made complete and total sense to me, at the same time. Betrayal in its purest form and me attempting to navigate it once again. Do I let him have power and take my life away again? Do I get to stand up for myself? Would standing up for myself give him power? Why the hell does any of it matter?

And even though none of it happened, the truth of the matter remains. I was devastated. That says a lot. And that isn't okay.

Emotional battery. Emotional battery. Emotional battery.
Life goes in circles. Why can't I get out of this one?

It brought me to an interesting place. Through all of the horrific thoughts and revelations I was having, something else wouldn't leave me. That day, over a year ago now, you kept insisting something was wrong with me and I kept insisting I was fine, until you finally looked at me and said, "No. You aren't. You wear your heart on your sleeve. I know you aren't okay." I walked away and got coffee. I hated that you could see it. I hated that you cared. But today...all I wanted was for you to tell me I wasn't okay. Today, I wouldn't have told you, but I also wouldn't have had a choice. You wouldn't have liked it. But we could've had coffee together and re-caffeinated ourselves back to where we should be.

That's why I texted you. I'm sorry I did. Looking back, it wasn't for anything...you were simply next on the phone call list, and then I found out how stupid I am and had nothing good to say. I had no intentions of filling you in...I just wanted to...I don't even know. Mom, Michael...then you...

Ooof...that's probably not good.

The residual emotions, I don't doubt that there's love in there somewhere, unfortunately, but I honestly think most of it is lack of conclusion and comprehension. Any time we spoke after all of it happened, I would ultimately come back to saying, "I just need to understand." He never let me. I still don't understand. I doubt I ever will. And that is what kills me. I don't know why or how he could say what he did, and so I believe him because I have no choice but to. I have no reference to say, "No, that's not right."

No one makes you feel inferior without your consent. Emotional battery.

Knowing that I've given consent to inferiority infuriates me. It's the truth and I know it, but why am I so god damn weak?

So, dangerous. How do I do that? I believe you. That's a start. I believe what you say over what he said. I believe that I'll see you in the next few days. I believe that you don't mind me being me, and if you do that's your problem, not mine. I also probably post that video I took.

This is going to take serious work...

Hi, my name's Cassandra

and I'm addicted to watching the sappiest movie I can find if and when I'm left alone. 


First of all, I can't stand being left alone, which I think is a function of growing up with five other people in the house and always sharing a room. Secondly, I won't try to say that I hate romantic movies, because that could never be true. At their core, everyone likes a good romance. But, I'm not comfortable with the topic it involves and seriously, I think it's becoming a problem. I'm turning into a girl or something...


All humor aside, I improved again yesterday, just have to actually upload the videos. They aren't great quality, sorry, but I'm having issues figuring out the right angle to shoot from with an iPad in that room. I'll get it. 


What's interesting though is that these improvs weren't the same old thing I normally do. Yes, there were consistent elements of me, of course. But there was something else too. Maybe it was my intention.


I've been on this Ray LaMontagne kick. Every morning, that's the Pandora station that goes on, and then somehow, miraculously, when I get to my rehearsal, I somehow haven't managed to make myself sick of him, and back on goes Pandora for background music. Pandora loves "Let It Be Me," I hear that one every day, most of the time as the first song. I'm taking that as a sign, and it's comforting, especially in the stage of life I'm in at the moment.


You know what's sad that I realized lately, I'm counting away my life. "If I can just make it to September, everything will be fine," "January. In January I'll be done with this and I get to choose my life. Make it to January." That's ridiculous, and I'm not listening to my own speech from senior year of high school. I have got to stop doing that. I want to start seeing each day for what it is and giving it the respect in my life that it deserves. There is not a single moment that I will ever be able to relive or recreate in absolute perfection. I need to grab on to these moments while I can.


I've started looking up on my walks home. I used to go outside and look at the stars with my dad every night. I knew all of the constellations and all of the stories. I knew that they were pieces of history, forever burning in the past during my lifetime. It's mind-boggling for me now, but I just accepted it then. Me, my dad and that telescope. He became a kid with me, it brought him so much joy. Just him and his little girl. And he knew so much about it and had so much to tell me. When I'm walking and looking up, I remember every night outside with him and wish I could do that again. I want to sit outside with my dad and look up, and maybe this time we could have a beer instead of lemonade. I want to relearn all the stories. I want to hold on to every word he has to say...man, I miss them all.


When I look up, on my walks home, I wonder who else in my life is looking up too. Who out there is seeing the same sky at the same time? It's amazing. Miles apart, and that sky would still connect us. It could still make it like we're standing right next to each other.  

Can't you see me standing here waiting?

I should've started writing yesterday. I've been in a strange sort of funk for a few days. Physical exhaustion, mental confoundedness, and emotional distance has just left me...well, not me. I wake up, early, very early. I leave. I go dance or take a class. I rehearse. Or I work. I'm so tired that my head starts to hurt and it feels like someone is trying to retract my eyes back into my skull, and I go home to my bed, to begin the process all over again the next day. And not any part of that is easy, aside from the dancing because I at least enjoy that part. I feel like myself in class. But then I'm out of class and realize how alone I am lately. How isolated I've become. No one is with me on this journey I'm taking this last semester. I went from having a family and seeing the same people every day to having me, my bags and a few random hellos and short words with people who know me but can't get through to me because I always have to go.

 It's just...a lot. And nothing. At the same time.

 Then I woke up this morning, I got to sleep in until 8:15!, and was greeted by the sun. It felt so beautiful flooding my room. Took my time getting out of bed. Noticed how heavy my body feels, but solid. Mental note to figure out how to lose weight, be strong and be flexible all at the same time...and I've got a month to do it. Great. I walk down the stairs to get my coffee and am greeted with another little Facebook reminder that I haven't been forgotten. Smiles. Although, this time, maybe it's the other extreme. It may be that I'll be remembered a little too permanently, but I'll deal with that later. And then I realize...today's the 10th. She's been gone for 6 years, which should be sad, but I should be okay with. It's been 6 years for goodness' sake. But for some reason, I can't handle that today. Immediately I break down, just praying Lynnia and/or Paul won't decide to get up and walk down the stairs just then. Sobbing, I run to the shower to calm down. I just want to get away. I think maybe, aside from the horrible anniversary, I'm beginning to realize that my life is being decided, and it's everything I've ever wanted, except maybe I'm not ready for that. I'm tired of being responsible. I'm tired of being what I'm expected to be. I just want to be free. I want what I don't have yet. So I want to go get it. I debate leaving, right then and there, and of course, because I am responsible and I am what I'm expected to be, I shower instead and go to rehearsal.

 And then barre this morning - Craig you doubted that I'd never said I look beautiful, and I swear to you that's true. I've never been that sure of myself to admit that I'm beautiful, mainly because I don't think I am, but this morning I felt it - I felt beautiful. And I danced for you, Nana. I wish I could tell you that there's never been a show that I haven't thought of you before I went on stage. I wish you could have seen all those shows. You never even knew about Kun-Yang or the crazy dream I chased after, but it's happening, and I wish more than anything you were here to see it. I want to know what you'd think of me. Would you be proud of the person I grew into? As a little girl, I always looked forward to growing up for you and knowing that I'd done right by you. I was never sure I'd actually manage it, but I wanted your approval more than anything. I wanted to bring a boyfriend to you and have you hate him. And I wanted to know when you thought I'd found "the one." I wanted to hear you tell me to stop fussing over boys and concentrate on dancing, because I could do it. I wanted to understand you, and I wanted you to understand me. I hope you can look down and smile at what I've done, who I am. Through everything we've all been through these past few years, I have always thought of you. I really wish I could tell you that.

 Kun-Yang started to tell me about the length I'm finding after class today. I felt at home at the studio. It's what I needed. When I'm there, I can forget that I may or may not be losing myself this semester. When I'm there, I can find who I am again. Thank God.

So I don't really know what I'm getting at here...but I'm on edge friends. And I miss you all. Those here with me and those long gone.

I wish I had the time and space to improv. I feel like it would be a really great one today. But the best I could do is the fountain on Passyunk, and if I starte dancing and sobbing out there in public...well I don't really feel like dealing with the Philly Police today. So I'll probably just finish my latte and head home.

All my love.

Para tí

Bet you thought I'd forgotten even the basics. It's okay...I wasn't sure I remembered them either. I guess I've read that note you left enough that I remember that one at least.

Last show tonight. Kind of disastrous. Music and lights were all kinds of off. I tried not to let it phase me though and only tried to support those it affected.

Right before we went on, I turned to Megan and told her that I had way too much going on in my head. "He isn't answering. It's been two years to the day. And I don't have my skirt." ...come to think of it, I still don't have that skirt. I have no idea where it went...Anyway, we went on stage and I talked about laughter and how I am so lucky to have so many people in my life who make me laugh. I talked about two years ago. The first time I saw you. Same day. Same space. Very different show. Very different audience. Very different me, and I need you to know that part. I need to tell you that. But I can't. So I'll tell everyone who is not you.

The piece went beautifully. Megan kicked me in the face and slapped me in the back, but it really was beautiful.

Then Michael's piece. I've continued to get amazing feedback on it. Megan talked about the length and the calm with which I entered the movement. "You don't do that, but somehow you are." She voiced that maybe it's my doorway into figuring myself out across the board. That's what I've been doing this summer. Spending time on myself and figuring out why I can't handle things, or why I'm handling them in a way I don't like and working on what I can do about that. Or at least, that's what she told me. "It's like, maybe you've already dealt with that, so then you get to his piece and you can let it go, because you already did it. It's behind you now."

I wrote your name on the floor. I have been. I especially enjoy dotting the "i" and crossing the "t". And then, I saw you tonight. I've been picturing you there, sometimes, but tonight was different. I actually saw you. There you were, smiling at me, the way you used to be. And I wasn't mad. I wasn't upset. It was just a nice memory. I nearly smiled back at you, but that's not the dance. And when I turned around, you were gone.

I tried to convince myself that the piece was about me, or him, or anyone else. But in reality, it's been about you, the whole time. Most of what I've done in the past two years has in some way been about you. And I'm okay saying that now.

I did it. I danced you out of me. I can let go.

Goodbye, mi amor

A beautiful disaster

I feel really uneasy. Woke up from a strange dream that blurred the distinction between reality and dreamworld (yet again) and now I can't shake this feeling that the world is pushing down on me. Maybe I'll write this and go back to bed for a few minutes - try to have a better dream.

Potentially, there will be a lot more people on here due to the show program. So welcome if you're new! Here's my life, on display, all in the hopes that I can dig myself out of the heartless hole I'd created for myself about a year ago.

Oh...that's what this feeling is. It's been a year...wow. I will always be amazed at the muscle memory of things like that - important, life-altering dates - and how it precedes the actual memory. And here come the tears...I've waited for it to be a year for a...well I guess for a year.

And that explains the dream...

Okay. Took a walk. Loaded the dishwasher. Grounded myself. Ready to write again.

Let's talk about yesterday. It was opening night for Doris Says... last night, and boy oh boy talk about stress. I had to go pick up chocolate pizzas from work, which took 30 minutes longer than it was supposed to, making Megan and I over an hour late for call, which everyone was okay with except me. In those 30 minutes at work, people asked about the show, but no one said good luck, no one tried to help me get what I needed so I could just get there, the only thing anyone did was punch me in the stomach and tell me how awful my outfit was. Sometimes, it really is just like high school in that place, and I was done with high school before I even went to it. Those friends have yet to see me flip out, but they were close yesterday. I was about a minute away from losing it.

Then, I got to Chi MAC, and all I wanted was a minute to myself to center, focus, and do my hair and makeup. But, I am in so many of the pieces that right away it was "Cassandra, can you do this? Cassandra, you need to be here. Cassandra, run this dance. Cassandra, what happens when the lights go out?" Again, about a minute from losing it. And I wasn't even upset with them. I knew we needed to do all of that. I just wanted to do my makeup.

Thankfully, they forced me to dance. I needed someone to make me before the show started. We ran Michael's piece and I'm beginning to find that as difficult as it was/is for me to wrap my head around his concept, I feel very much at home in that dance and I can always find myself when I'm doing it. In the middle of running it, and me still being a bundle of stress, I heard Michael, out of nowhere, right next to me say, "You look beautiful doing my work." I could've cried. The look on his face too. That kind of proud joy that someone gets when they're looking at a person they've watched grow - a person they know that they helped grow. I completely messed up the next three steps after that because I got so stuck in how perfect that moment was and how much I never expected to hear those words. You know those minutes in life that happen and you know, right there, on the spot that they will stay with you for at least a very long time? I will never forget how that very simple statement made me feel for as long as I still have my memory.

Showtime. First two pieces - done. They went well! mEmotion is up next. Dear God. I was a disaster backstage. Anyone can ask Megan. She'll tell you all about it. I couldn't sit still. I told her I didn't want to go on. It really should've been on video, I'm sure it was a funny few minutes of anxiety.

My first words to the audience, in darkness - "I have a confession. I haven't been this nervous since my junior year of high school." Which was true. The piece of information that they were missing is that the last time I felt like I did last night on stage was the first performance I had to do after my Nana died. I was a wreck, then and last night. For obvious reasons back then, but last night, I just didn't want the people out there to watch me, or listen to me. I even went so far as to beg the audience to close their eyes. Kun-Yang, Ken, Jillian, Chris, Beau, Michael, Justin, my peers...everyone who is important to me. Everyone I look up to. Sitting there, watching a dance that is the total opposite of anything I have ever done. Sitting there, watching me put everything I have on the line.

But we did it. And it was awesome. I stumbled. But that was only the beginning. The partnering was amazing, and everyone said congratulations.

Then Michael's piece. I felt like a mess. The strings from the costume kept going in my mouth. I bumped into Linda. Oh and then, I fell, flat on my butt. Not even kidding guys. And I didn't even pull it off well because I tried to save it about 3 times. Sweaty feet combined with a slick floor never amounted to anything positive.

I avoided talking to everyone after the show. I actually went out of my way to get around the audience so that I couldn't talk to anyone. Then, I saw him coming my way and I was in a corner, with no way out. Kun-Yang actually sought me out. And he was the one person I was seriously avoiding. But, he had nearly only good things to say. Again, a shoulder correction - not directly but I'm pretty sure that's what he meant. He says there are still things I'm working out, which is completely true. But then he told me how happy he was to see me perform, and that I've made a great deal of progress. I'm finding myself and he is so excited to see where it takes me. And then...he told me that I found it. In Michael's piece. I figured it out. And I'm open. And he watched me. My two greatest struggles this summer, come together, and I figured it out. Again, all but in tears, and so excited, I jumped to give him a hug, like I would hug my dad. And I was beaming. I finally relaxed and finally let go of all that stress.

One more show tonight. I hope everyone can be there. As much as I love my dance family to death, and their presence was certainly enough, so many more of you are so intertwined in what I'm doing. I know why some of you can't be there. But I'd really love for the rest of you to see this...even though I'll probably beg you not to watch once you get there.

I'm wondering if I'll ever get used to what I'm doing, or if it's always going to be this scary, unnerving, daily challenge.

You are wonderful.

If you could've seen my face when I read that...bright red. What else is new?