Well fed.

I've been cheating, but I don't care and I'm not concerned. I'm replacing the mundane with things that are necessary to be said. It's a little bit exhilarating too, not knowing who saw the post that in retrospect I never should have written, and knowing that they are the only ones who will ever see it - that it's something they'll have to recall merely from memory because there's no looking back on it now.

As if I'm important enough for people to look back on.

It was called, "Michael, I'm definitely the broken one." And to the that I hold. It works for my life and the duet.

The week from Hell is over, but it ended horribly, as can probably be expected. I ran late for ballet this morning, waking up hardly being able to move. It was all I could do to pull my legs over my bed, and I noted that I'd been so tired the night before that I didn't move in my sleep. At all. I woke up in the same position exactly, with nothing out of the place that I laid down with it in. Fantastic.

So, in that state, I hurriedly hobbled in the cold to the studio, without makeup, having literally just gotten out of the shower. And she attacked me. I got myself in the room this week without trembling or tears, and immediately, she came after me. But the worst, and what I feared, not only did she yank me into a position my back is not capable of, but she leaned in -

Well at least you're well fed, Cassandra.


Immediate tears. And there was nothing I could do. It took all of the discipline and courage I have to keep me in that room. Stay, I did. Imagine myself punching her in the face, I did. Say a word, no sir. And it didn't stop there. Everything I did was wrong.

Cassandra, where is your extension? You need to stretch, before it's too late. Look at Kun-Yang. His back is perfect. Head center, Cassandra. Don't let go of the barre. 


On and on and on. After she'd already humiliated me and called me fat, for what is more than likely not the last time.

I was so distraught. On the verge of tears and genuinely angry - with myself, for letting her do this to me, for not being skinny, for not being flexible, for the tears blurring my vision; with Kun-Yang for letting her back into a place where I've found safety; with Jess for smiling; with Jen for being perfect; with Eiren for trying to cheer me up; with the new kid for his way of looking at the situation; and with the universe for putting me in this life. I got so mad that I decided to show off. I knew I could jump. Potentially broken feet, but fatty can still jump. So I pulled out everything I had. Jess came over and joked with me, then hugged me -

Let your heart go next time.


And back to the tears. How am I supposed to keep going like this? I debated storming out of rehearsal, of accusing them of doing this to me on purpose. And I realized I couldn't do that. I love them too much. And I chose this life. I knew this was coming.

So, my choice is to figure it out. I either grow a backbone and take the hits or I lose the weight. The question is, will I ever be skinny enough? Or am I going to have to turn into a skeleton?

A car moment to rehearsal, Jess tries to help me. A huge talking to, and it was so perfect, if I were ready to hear it. Truth is, I don't buy it. You're just too nice. You love me too much. I want the truth. Maybe you're giving it to me, but I am so bent right now that I don't think I can handle it.

I'd turned cold again and was listening, processing and debating her words. And then she pulled out the ones I didn't know that I needed.

They aren't disappointed in you.


And it was back to tears. Okay. I think they are. I think I'm failing. That's part of the problem.

And somehow it came back to the stupidity of the week. I started telling her how bad it was, and the last straw of it. She asked me to clarify - "I can't understand why no one seems to want to spend a little bit of time with me without ripping me apart."

Oh.


That's all she had to say to what I didn't even know was buried in me. I just kept saying that I should've known it. I did know it. It was stupid. I'm stupid. It was never going to be another way. What was wrong with me? Stupid.

You aren't stupid. You have to stop beating yourself up.


Yeah. I'll work on that. I figure, if I do it, and I convince myself I'm right, then it won't hurt so bad when everyone else does it.

Not really sure that it's working.

Then off to get yogurt with a not-so-new but kinda-sorta new friend. I texted her when ballet was so bad this morning. I just needed someone to talk to, someone to listen and hear me, someone who isn't a dancer and doesn't know me inside and out, someone who's gone through similar and different things. So, over frozen yogurt, we talked about me being not-so-fat (ironic). She had wonderful advice. I feel better...and not. Maybe no amount of talking is going to do it.

And it was back to the stupidest situation I've gotten myself into as of late. She gave me validity. And there were no "I told you so," eyes. Just a lot of "I'm sorry," looks. She let me talk about it. Someone who had seen it, who had been there, who knew things about it that I didn't.

The important part - I didn't imagine it.

And I didn't imagine whatever happened. But I can't change it. Not if I'm not included.

I'm exhausted and hoping that I'll survive these next five weeks. Strategy - give up every unnecessary stress and take everything else by storm. I've had it. I'm pissed. Megan always said I dance better angry. So let's put that to the test, because I'm there. Let's see if I still have it in me and can live better too.

Be my friend. Stand by me. Or get the hell out of the way.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71y0lQIxstM

A Skilled Opponent

Well. This sucks. And I knew it would happen. Lord help the first person to look at me with the "We told you so," eyes. I told me so too. Obviously, that went real far.


Here I am. Skipped class under the impression that I'd be going to brunch. I actually got excited to go. And now I'm drinking the same coffee and eating the same oatmeal as always. Stupid. And I need a rest - my left foot is bruised terribly, the bones in my right foot are definitely not in the right place and the last straw to my week from Hell was just handed to me. Despite all of that, I can't stand that I'm sitting here, writing this instead of discussing our book and improving with my friends. Dumb move.


It's funny when you have a strong connection with someone, how you can just feel the shift in things, before they're even in the same area code as you. That has happened to me a lot in the past six months. I always know how it is before I've even seen the person. And the frustrating thing is, it doesn't seem to matter what I think or feel about a situation. Every time, their opinion is the one that is acted on and mine falls to the wayside. Even if all I want is an explanation and in the past I was dragged into something much riskier and demanding and given no choice.


I gave things up for it. And this is what you do. I look like a fool on so many levels, it's not even funny.


So, I'm sorry, new friend with the incredible smile, but I've given up - maybe that strengthens his win, but I don't care. I'm not doing this again. Maybe it's not where you're heading but I think it might be. Maybe in a different life, where I'd been taught different rules to the game, but the ones I know are successfully deterring me from playing. 


I am sorry for jumping when you touched my leg, though. I don't know why that startled me, aside from my head being in a very, very different place when you walked up to hug me and being shocked by the laughter and smile I, myself gave you. 


That's when I knew my night wasn't going to go as planned. There's a reason I keep running into you.


But none of it matters because again, here I sit. Not sad but angry. I didn't even deserve a normal conversation. That was the biggest slap in the face. Don't think I couldn't tell. You talked to everyone just like you, but with me, you were something else and that's not fair. 


So karaoke tonight? I think not. I have a gym to tear apart, an outline to organize and maybe a studio to fall asleep in. I'm not wasting any more time.


So you're like me? You don't have a weekend. Well, good. Keep working hard. It will all pay off.


See, and there's the confusing thing Mr. "40 minutes." First of all, you compared us and came to the conclusion that we're alike, even though you're clearly perfect and I'm clearly anything but, and secondly, am I supposed to live as a human being or not?



As soon as I figure out the internet, I have a bunch of videos to upload. I told you all this wasn't over.

Nothing ever ends

I've learned that...if nothing else.


A lot's happened in the past few days - 


I was told I disappeared on stage next to such a great performer, probably because I can't drop my weight.


I failed to be a crocodile, but I don't want to be a crocodile, I'd rather be an elephant but I can't make an elephant sound louder than the rest of you can make the obvious sounds.


I stressed about what animal I should actually be and the consensus is a kangaroo, which I can actually make that noise so that's good. 


I freaked my mom out because she made the mistake of telling me that I'm bigger now than I was when everyone thought I'd stopped eating.


Alice pointed out a lot of things to me. But mainly, I just wish I had a rabbit hole to fall down.


I had to take class from the man who nearly ruined me and you know what, he very well still could. 


I can't dance. I feel trapped. Caged with fear.


I don't know how to dance about love because I don't know if I've ever been given the chance to experience it in a fair way, and I've got less than a month to figure out how to feel beautiful on that stage for him.


I lost my closest friend in my final process. How can that happen? Why?


And the cherry on top, this is when you're coming back. I'm not even sure if I'm included in seeing you at this point.


But if everything you wrote was what I think it was, you should know what I've learned. 

I'm not Cassie

Just got home from the second showing of "mEmotion." It was stressful, putting this show together, having people drop out, trying to do five million other things and realizing that I had absolutely no control over what was about to happen to me. I was tense all day about it, and people just kept telling me to relax, because in the end, it was going to be whatever it was going to be.


And it was. I did the duet with Jess, and by the time we had an audience, it was only our second time attempting the piece. And I thought it felt awesome. Although, she went back to four years ago, when we first met. I wrote her an email, all but begging to dance, because I wanted to and I needed to. She brought it up, and I casually responded with not being that dancer anymore, but then relinquished by adding that I still kind of am. I would still write that email. I would audition a hundred times, whatever it took for the chance to dance. 


I came off-stage from that uneasy, slightly embarrassed. The audience was small, but important. Again, everyone I look up to was there. Everyone I want to please. And those who taught me everything I ever knew were there and were watching me move as me for the first time in five years. Nerve-racking. And there Jess went and told a secret. I don't even think it is a secret, but it felt like one. I don't think a lot of them know about how I started at Temple.


So it was time to go on for my duet with Megan, and I just kept thinking about not forcing the speaking. Before I could continue to consider it, I heard my own voice in the space, talking about who I was, and would that be enough? There was this little voice yelling, "What are you saying? Shut up! It doesn't have to be this way." But I just continued with it. And then stopped. I didn't have anything to say. I just wanted to know if who I am is enough for all those people, or if there's the chance that it will ever be.


And then Megan entered, pointed out that I wasn't talking much. I know. I don't know what to say. I feel weird. Nervous. Unsure. Scared. I really don't want to wear this shirt anymore. Thank you for taking it away from me. Which is weird. I'm not sure how I got to the place where I didn't want that shirt. This morning it served as both a comfort and a challenge to pack that into my bag, but by that point in the dance, it felt intrusive. Like a third, unwelcome presence in the space. As soon as it was off, I felt free, easy. I remember jumping. I really don't jump that much unless prompted to by a choreographer. It isn't my step of choice.


I just felt like observing tonight. I wanted to watch my partners and to help them. I wanted to be quiet and let them be, but I felt as if both of them were nudging me into being everything I could. Into owning up to what I had done and what I was doing. It was really interesting.


My "old" dance teachers loved it, but they kept talking about how beautiful and mature Jess was. When do I get to be mature? What do I have to do to get there? I'm positive it isn't an age thing. Merían said we have to talk. I'm positive I'm in trouble. I didn't let go enough. It was too "good." Damn. Joellen and Richard loved it. Jae Hoon told me I was on the right path and to keep going. Kun-Yang told me, "As long as you had fun." Ouch. Ken loved hearing me talk about my process, which meant so much. And overall, I heard that I'd grown. That this was different for me. 


And I did it. I got mixed responses. That's ultimately what I wanted. I made people think.


Then dinner with Miss Pat and Miss Jamyn. It was so great. They had so many amazing questions about what I'd done with the piece, how I'd done it, why I'd done it...I was so happy that they were so engaged and not just saying, "So what were you doing exactly?" I was scared to death of them seeing this one just because I don't trust myself with it yet. I don't know if I ever will. But then we talked about everything, from diets, to boys, to Nutcrackers and Indonesia. It was beautiful. I wish I hadn't been sniffling the whole time.


And the words I've always wondered if I would hear in the end...


I am very proud of you.


My heart melted. Thank you. 


There are people who want to dance, there are people who love to dance and there are a very few people who've gotta dance. You have the gotta dance.


I have nothing to say to that. But there's this feeling, I want to cry, and I just want to run in circles. She sees it. And I'm not her kind of dancer anymore. I'm something else. And she still sees it.

Finished making sense

I finally, finally got to sit down with Joellen and talk through the piece, and it was so helpful. She used words like undulant, calm, relaxing, transformative and therapeutic to describe what Megan and I have been doing. She also said she'd never seen us move like that, which is awesome coming from the woman who's worked with me on various things for four semesters now. She also pointed out that she could see the change we underwent from the beginning of the dance to the end, and the changes I've undergone from the beginning of the process to now. And, once again, she made the point that this process has been extremely important, maybe more so than the piece itself. It was so nice to hear feedback and for it to be positive. A little more challenge, a little more criticism, a little more push - that all could have been good too, but I just needed someone to tell me that I did something okay.


I'm sick again. I don't have time for this. And it came out of nowhere. Stupid.


I would also love nothing more than to run away. I don't care where. Or how. I'm just done here. I'm over it. I need a change of scenery. 


Are you okay, honey? You're just not yourself lately.


Alright, so I'm not crazy. That is true. Thank you someone for seeing it. Here it is guys - no, Kayla, I'm not okay, and I think you know that. I can't do it. I can't keep relying on people who don't follow through. I am trying to juggle four different lives at the moment, and if everyone else could just maintain the one or two lives they're in, it would all work. But at the place I'm in right now, I can't pick up slack, especially if it's not my own. And I am asking, begging for help, and I feel a little shut down. This is why I just do things by myself. This is why I'm alone. I like it better that way. 


And my whole world collapsed yesterday right before I had to go into work. So that was great. And I got myself up on the floor only to have things get worse. So I just shut up, put myself in the shop, and started tying ribbons and putting tissue paper in gift boxes. I don't even know if any of it was necessary, but at least I didn't have to try to socialize. And then your hands on my back. I don't know how you always know, but you're always there when I need you. And I came back. It's nice to have some semblance of family still left in that place.


I'm sorry, for everything. My decision wasn't right. I shouldn't have let any of it happen. I don't think you care, but I do.


And man, if I could keep my end of the deal, you would be getting a face to face earful at the moment. It isn't fair that now is when you chose to be everything I was afraid you were, and to prove everyone else right, because now is exactly when there is nothing I can do about it. So, peace. I'm over it. See you.


For the person I end up screaming at: I am sorry. You probably don't deserve what's coming. You're receiving a myriad of inner frustrations and struggles that I just can't contain anymore. Whatever happened, you probably only were a very small fraction of my issue and just unfortunately ended up being the last I could take. 


I know it's coming, so I figured I'd get that out of the way now. 


I have videos but couldn't upload anything to Youtube yesterday. Just that kind of day. I'll work on it.

40 minutes

It's like this.

He pointed at his watch, and I must admit, I was thoroughly confused.

These 20 minutes, they're the time you are dancing. The other 40 minutes, that's the rest of your life. The more you allow yourself to have 40 minutes, the more enriched those 20 minutes can and will become.

Wow. You might just have a point.

Dance isn't everything, you know?

And I never thought I would ever let someone say that to me. But you did. And just hearing those words suddenly lifted a huge weight off my chest. Shocked by the lack of rage in myself at hearing something so "unjust," I could do nothing to stop it. I know you didn't understand why I was smiling ear to ear, and why it was probably the biggest smile you've ever seen from me, but apparently I needed someone to tell me that. I feel better. Thank you.

I don't see any physical limitation. I see you limiting yourself. It's all in your head.

Truth. Again, thank you. That's so wonderful and so terrible to hear all at once. And ya, you're right, I could see it. In the video, the moments when I stopped thinking about what my body is or isn't capable of, those were the moments I was really moving. When I was struggling to be perfect and fit inside the box of what I believe I need to be, I wasn't successful at being that or anything else.

You're absolutely right. I need to let go. I need to start trusting myself. I need to keep working hard, but I need to stop being the harshest critic I have ever met. I need to believe I can do this, because the rest of you think I can.

You looked me right in the eyes when you said it all. You meant it. I could see that, and that is huge.

Okay. I'm going to give it a whirl. Time to grow up. Time to shut up everything I've been told about who and what I am. They don't know me anymore. They were wrong. I know me. And I can do this. 

And maybe, just maybe, I'll start making time for myself, that doesn't involve dance. But that's going to take some work. One thing at a time...

Counting on the night for a beautiful day

I can't shake the dream I had last night, and how much it was related to everything that's been happening. I was in my room, and it looked exactly like my room, not a "dream" version at all. And my friend, I could see him through my window, telling me to check out the knocking at my door. Me telling him I was sorry, that I was certain it was at our front door. And then realizing that the knocking was more scratching than anything else. Somehow knowing it was her outside my door, and asking if she was okay, because it would be completely understandable if she wasn't. Opening the door, her screaming and grabbing my throat. A one-handed clutch that took me back, made me fall on my bed, seeing only her eyes as she continued screaming. Trying to scream myself, but not being able to from the incredible pressure her surprising strength was placing on my vocal cords. Why wasn't Eiren helping me? Where had he gone? I could actually feel it - her hand around my neck. I felt the moment I stopped breathing, the moment I gave in, and the lack of struggle from the shock of fear. I died with my eyes open. And suddenly I realized I wasn't dreaming. A huge gasp rang through the morning air as I tried to move myself, weak from lack of oxygen. How long had I been like that? Arm limp over the bed, I'd actually stopped breathing. Had my heart stopped too? It took me a few seconds to orient myself, to take in what had happened. How had that happened? What if...


My dreams have always been really important to me and meant a lot. I looked this one up, and it's nothing good but it's completely pertinent. I'm scared to sleep again. I know the wives' tale about dying in dreams, but I've already proven that false before. Why didn't I this time?


Never mind, I'll find someone like you.


I can hear the neighbors' bathroom radio from downstairs. Most of the time, I want to scream at them for it but I love that song, and it's suddenly becoming more of an anthem than just something to sing along to. 


Everyone took it upon themselves to remind me on Thursday that I have only 8 weeks left in my college career. Thanks so much all. Are you looking to complete the panic attack I've already started?


In the first 6 weeks of this semester, I have already been lost, redefined meal times, confronted myself, conquered some fears, created many new ones and developed narcolepsy. I have absolutely no idea what could be waiting for me in this final stretch.


And then the inevitable, "What's next?" If I hadn't all of a sudden thought his smile was remarkably charming, I probably would have blown his question off. I can't stand being asked that. But I behaved. I told him I just wanted to dance, performing as much as possible while I still could. He didn't tell me it was impossible, he just wanted me to be more specific. Who for? Where? Well, I want to dance. I'll take whoever wants me.


That's not good enough. You need to have a goal and go after it. You get to choose just as much as they do.


The goal remark made me mad. I almost lost composure and ended up biting my tongue. I do have a goal. I'm clear on what that is, whether or not the rest of you understand.


But there someone went with the, "You get to choose," comment again. I seriously never ever thought of that. Never was that in my realm of possibilities. I have always been of the "I'll take what I can get," mindset, in the hopes that eventually it would get me somewhere good. Not to say I'd be giving in or settling, I just know how difficult this field is and that I will have to work from the bottom up. Especially someone like me - the non-dancing body that dances.


And my one clear goal is a tricky topic around the University. I feel silly saying it, or out of line. I don't know why, but I can't articulate it to those people. So everyone thinks I'm just this silly girl auditioning my butt off with no idea what I want. But that's not true. I know exactly what I want. I'm just not sure how to get there. 


Class this morning, my shoulders feel better. My upper body is starting to let go...I think. In a week I'll probably find out that I'm completely wrong, but it feels different, hopefully different good. But I continue to leave most classes, especially his, with this overwhelming "I just wish I was a good dancer," ringing in my ears. And when I can shut that off, be me and dance, I feel great and I get somewhere. It's just hard to make it stop some days.


I start rehearsal with Jess tomorrow for her portion. It should be interesting. I don't know what that dance is yet. I have a notion. I know she's worried about me. I know a lot of people are. I'm a little tired of being looked at like a bomb that's about to explode any second, or like a puzzle that's missing a few pieces and they just can't figure out where to put them. I wonder if that will transfer into what we do. I wonder if she'll continue to take on the Mom role and make me talk, make it about me, or if she'll let it be about her, which is what I'd actually like. 


Not sure if that's just me avoiding the task at hand or if it's something valid and genuine I'm looking to tap into.

What is done in your name

I did this improv yesterday after reading an atrocious first-hand account of a man who survived severe torture during the French Algerian War. That, combined with a little Facebook stalking which led me to find a slap in the face, left my body uneasy and restless. The perfect state to dance in and take out all my visceral emotions on. And so, here you have it. Both Henri Alleg's and my own torture, through my moving words.

I'm looking both at the text and the photo on the computer screen, just to clarify, because they were there and it seemed right to focus on them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-H8T-dwI_-s

I stopped baking...

I read your blog. What's going on?


Oh I only completely and totally lost control for a second there. No big. 


I'm back in any case. So that's good.


And in talking to people, they keep reiterating that this will be over soon and I can take it off my plate, relax a little. I don't want this to be over. This has become way too important to me to just drop it because I'm no longer being graded on it. I think that was my intention. I needed to get attached to it, and I did. And the truth is, this isn't what's stressing me out. This is the glue that's holding my many pieces together.


So I appreciate the sympathy, but I won't be putting this aside any time soon.


Something huge occurred to me today. This is important. Not just to me. We were talking about dance scholarship today in senior seminar, and although it should have been obvious and already evident to me, I finally realized that this is dance scholarship. I am leaving a trail of research, for myself and others. I have questions and I'm exploring them. Some of them are being answered, and some are leading to deeper questions. But all of it is a legitimate process, and brings me back to when Joellen was telling me that it seemed as though I was developing a new way of working as well as a piece...perhaps more-so than the piece itself.


As for the rest of my day, it was spent being massively frustrated by the low morale that can be found in my ballet class. My head was not there this morning - being distracted by fears of the show this weekend. Even so, I appeared to care 100x's more than most people in there. I get it. It's 8am ballet. Most of you have no interest. But I can promise that I had little interest in that 9am Saturday morning African class I took, and I still tried my hardest. This isn't a life that you can just not care about. If you aren't going to put your everything into it, I don't know how you're going to do it.


Then modern class. I approached him after to thank him. He told me good job, and he meant it, and seemed surprised when "Really?" slipped out of my mouth. Again...notorious for saying stupid things. He told me I was looking calmer and integrating my center, that my musicality was great and appreciated. And then the strangest thing happened. He told me he was just scared of my back, scared that I would hurt myself. And I played a quick game of "Do I tell him or not?" and I don't know if I stopped thinking for a second or what happened...but I told him. "I've been debating whether or not I would tell you because I like to play games with this...but I guess maybe I should tell you. I have scoliosis and lumbar lordosis. I won't hurt myself. I'm just like that and working on looking like everyone else."


Why wouldn't you tell me? I'm not auditioning you. I'm your teacher. I'm here to help.


For a second, I couldn't remember why I didn't tell people. What he said was so not what I anticipated. I expected the, "...so?" or the "...and?" but not, "let me help you, why would you hide that?" Sometimes I think there is something fundamentally wrong with the way I think. And then I told him that I just like to play the game and see how long I can go without my teachers noticing that something's amiss. That I use it to gauge how I'm doing dealing with it, and that since he apparently noticed right away, I guessed I wasn't doing so good. He chuckled and told me that he sees everything, and we'd work on it. 


I have never been that upfront with a teacher that I wasn't very close with, that hasn't known me for a while. I don't know why I was so honest with him, or why it wasn't a big deal. Scratch that, why it wasn't a big deal in the negative way I was expecting it to be. He turned it around on me, and I wasn't ready for that. 


Overall, I feel hopeful today. The show's...interesting, but it's going to be fine. I feel more like I belong in that group of people now, which makes it easier.


I feel calmer. I have no reason to. I have so much to do. I can't keep track of it all. But it doesn't seem to matter right now. I'm back in my body. And it is what it is. I have to wear an awful unitard, but we can all laugh about it at least. I get to see my family this weekend. I get to see Joshua's smile and hug my parents. I get to go to brunch...soon.  And before I know it, college is going to be over, and I'm going to look back and wish I'd enjoyed this time more. So, I'm going to try to do that, so I don't have to look back and make too many wishes.

Don't hesitate

Okay. I've been dramatic.

I want to apologize...but that's not what I'm allowed to do, is it?

I'm not 100% better today, but I'm better. I'm dreading rehearsal, but one step at a time. At least I'm not in tears.

And I've come to a very important decision. They are not going to take this away from me. I know that's not what they're trying to do, but it's what they started to do. Over the past few days, I just kept thinking, "why couldn't I have been passionate about science?" Never in my life have I thought that. And ya, that made sense to be thinking. Science is guaranteed money. Maybe not the most thrilling life, but solid. Struggles, of course, but not pain accompanying the struggles. It would be way easier.

And then I remembered, I don't want easy. I want this. And I always have. And that isn't going anywhere. So there it is. If you don't want me, don't want me. I am this. I will get better. I will always try my hardest. But ultimately, I am who I am, and I have never wanted anything more.

You are dance.

Thanks, Mom. I remember now. And I'm going to go do it. I'm going to do what I do best. And I'm going to do it my way - heeding their corrections but I'm not going to let the corrections hinder me anymore. Worse comes to worse, I dance for myself. For the rest of my life. Someone, somewhere will like that. And if not, I will. Maybe that will be enough.

So, chaos in the upcoming week. I know that. But I found an audition. And I'm going to find time for it. I need to get back in my swing. Start doing what I need to do for me. I know most people don't get it. Most fear auditions. But I love them. I am most myself on stage or in an audition - the two places where I really let go because in that moment, you can't hold on. There's no way. So next week, I'll do both. And I'll do them how I want to. Well, I'll audition how I'll want to. This time, the stage may be different...

Deep sigh. I do feel better. Still tired, still a little out of it, but I'm back. That was rough.

You should call today. I won't say stupid things...well that's not true. I'll always say stupid things.

Can't find my way home

You are supposed to be you.

Says a mother trying to comfort her child who is once again crying in public on Temple's campus. Telling you, this article is going to be massive and cover the entirety of campus by the time I graduate. I was at least stationary and in doors this time.

I'm supposed to be me. I've been contemplating that since she said it because as crazy as it sounds, that was the last thing I expected to hear. I've been told to be so many different things recently that I forgot I can make my own decisions. I am capable of being who I am. It's gotten me this far, so it can't be awful.

Yesterday started fine. It was unexpected and not the way I thought my day would go - I wanted to be away from everyone and evidently everyone wanted me to be near them - but I adjusted and it was a good morning. Then our first senior showing, and I knew I would get ripped apart. I knew it couldn't be perfect. I knew that if it didn't get ripped apart, that was probably an issue. I didn't expect to be the only one who would have to run their piece twice. I didn't expect the depth to which I was ripped apart. I didn't expect to hear, "I don't know what it's about."

I also didn't expect to be pulled aside in the end, already a little crushed, to be told that I look "young," dancing with the company and "not right." Same freaking correction as always. I don't feel it. I think I'm doing it. I am trying with everything I have to do it, and apparently still look bad. "Too up in your shoulders, drop your weight, I think it will help." Well good god, isn't that what I've been working on since freshman year? And now I have no desire to go on stage in a week. Not at all. If I look bad, don't put me out there.

I realize I'm being challenged and I more than accept the challenge, but I am so overwhelmed with the amount of people challenging me. All looking for the same thing, but asking me to get there in very different ways.

So we're back at me crying on the phone with my mom at this point. Had to pull myself together for rehearsal. Eventually I perked up and was back to having fun in one of the only spaces I can these days. Then I saw my phone...no way he called.

But he did. And he had good news. And I am so wiped, so completely drained that I couldn't even process the news I've been waiting to hear for over a month. I couldn't even be a friend and give the right reaction. What is wrong with me? Those are the exact words I've been waiting for, and I still screwed up. How long did I have to anticipate that?

So I apologize...to no avail. Okay. I'll see you soon anyway.

I need a hug.

And then I wake up this morning, 5 hours of sleep later (which is a lot for me these days) and feel like someone is sitting on me. I really have no other way to explain it. So I mentally go through my day, trying to find some form of break so I can fix whatever's going on with me...but no. Contemplate unemployment, realize that I wouldn't be able to eat, so okay, I'll get tonight off. Nope. Wrong. You're just gonna have to keep trucking, kid.

Go to Dunkin' Donuts, tears streaming down my face. I can't even control it at this point. Is this what crazy people do?

Rehearsal. Better.

Then class. "You're supposed to be you," stuck on repeat in my head. So, I choose to be me. I choose to let go, just like they're all asking. I choose to just dance and let myself feel better. And you know what? About 5 seconds in to my freedom, I get another freaking correction, the one I get when I let go. "Shoulders Casssandra."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH - I just wanted so badly to scream and keep dancing my own way. But, he doesn't know me. He wouldn't see that as a manifestation of my frustration and need to release. He would think I was just unprofessional and rude. So I contain it, put my shoulders down, and go back to my checklist.

And this, right here, is why I feel trapped. I don't know how to win guys. I don't know how to do what you're asking.

Here's the potential second version of the piece, to be presented October 21st. I'm still trying to figure out how to make it more dangerous, how to make the audience a participant rather than just an observer. But I like this better...it'll do for now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-kctU9qjTk&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Putting the Damage On

We've been having a lot of really intense discussions about dance lately, and I think I need to address them, because they are everything I am struggling with personally all the time.

Yesterday in class, we discussed the difference between being a technician and being an artist, and why there even was a difference. Shouldn't a dancer be both? One and the same? The unanimous agreement was yes, so why on earth isn't that as evident as it should be in the world of dance today? The companies accessible and available to public view are for the most part one or the other. Very rarely do you see a successful fusion of the two, and if you do, it's a glimpse. One piece in a repertory of dozens. Why?

The answer came down to training. Which led to another question. How do you train someone to be a technically wonderful artist? How are there enough hours in a lifetime? We didn't come to a conclusion.

It's like dancers are trying to be super-human. They are obsessed with being something bigger, more powerful and are therefore losing their humanity.

That one hit home. And she just came right out and said it. Point blank. Fact. Yes, that is what I'm doing, or at the very least, putting myself in an intense tug of war over. On the one hand, this project is functioning to preserve and draw out my humanity. But on the other, I am obsessed. I'm never what I want to be, or think I need to be, or could potentially be. Or maybe I'll never be it. So maybe if I run more. If I lift 60lbs instead of 30. If I dislocate my hip. If I overstretch my right side. If I push my shoulders down into the ground. If I stop sleeping. Maybe then I can figure it out. Maybe then I can do it.

Then improv this morning, which is quickly and surprisingly evolving into my favorite class, my professor came over to me to help me stretch. Everyone I know is determined to help me with my body. It's fantastic. And so frustrating. But, I could feel it. She bent my joints, told me that I had to learn to relax and release when I was stretching, ran her hands through my ribcage, reminded me of all the movement potential that was there, and helped me open my shoulders. Her hands on my ribcage was fantastic. Extremely personal for a normal person, but I didn't even think twice about it until she asked if it was okay that she was touching me. My body just needed it. It wants to figure all of this out more than my brain can even conceive, I think. And I could hold onto what she gave me for a few mintues, and then, as always, it went away, and I was trapped back in my same old body.

Instead of dancing right away, we discussed this wonderful book we've been reading. I can't even tell you how much I love it. I have trouble putting it down and that has never happened to me with a book that isn't fictional. She asked me to begin the discussion because I had thanked her for giving us the book and told her how much I was getting out of it. I brought up the section about addictions. It says, "In addiction, we obsess in order to avoid finding out something, or in order to avoid facing something unpleasant...In addiction we are folding inward, into more sameness, more dullness." I won't say I am addicted to dance because that diminishes it. I am and have always been very passionate about dance. Lately, I think I am addicted to my body, which sounds really weird.

Here it is though. I am constantly thinking about it - what's wrong with it, what I can do about it, how can I lose weight, how can I make my hips go away, how can I look like he does when he lifts his leg, what am I going to do when I go find out this is arthritis, if I eat this cookie what do I have to do to make up for it, is there a muscle that should be stronger but isn't? All day, those questions are pouring through my head. And I see people around me, living their normal lives, and I want no part in it. Not until I'm perfect. I think I'm actually addicted to perfection, which was something brought up and we found that a few of us are.

Which comes back to our training - where we were told we HAD to look a certain way and be a certain thing. From the time I was 2, I needed to be everything that a stereotypical dancer is. And the truth of the matter is, I am not one of those things, and I never will be. So, to compensate for that, in high school my teacher gave me a checklist to go through every time I danced, every time I started any exercise. There were about 10 things on the original list. Over the years, that list has grown to accomodate about 20 things. So now, every time I move, I am just trying to piece my list together and make sure everything is right, which is impossible. But I try anyway. And then, God forbid someone tell me to let go, I'll forget about my list for a second and my real body comes out of the shadows and man am I a disaster.

But maybe I'm only a stereotypical disaster.

Maybe in that moment, I'm finally really being me.

I have the physicality. I have the musculature. I can stand on my own two legs. I can do the movements. In that moment where I finally let go of my list, maybe I am just actually dancing the way I, me, Cassandra dances. And maybe, someday, that can be okay.

I said that today in class. All of that. And at first, Merian was really upset that I limit myself the way I do, that I can't let go. Then, I told her about my shirt improv, and how I think I finally started to in that one, that a friend had sent me a message to tell me how different I looked in that. It's because I didn't have my checklist that night. I threw it out the door and I finally let my body do what it wanted to do. And I hated every moment of that improv. I was positive I would never show it to anyone when I'd finished because it felt so wrong, but then I watched it and saw something. I can't even put words to it...but she saw it too.

And I'm sitting there saying all of this next to my main modern professor this semester. I can never tell what he thinks of me, and honestly, I'm scared of him. I just didn't look at him as I was saying all of this. I didn't want to see the "aha, I get her now," or the, "just stop whining and making excuses," written all over his face. Neither option would make me feel okay about what I was saying. And ya, I didn't have to say it, but then I wouldn't be living this project.

So I don't know what to do. I don't know where the middle ground is. I have to find a compromise. Neither part is 100% going to be the correct answer. It's somewhere in the middle. But where is that?