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.
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