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The Old Me?
Jul. 19th, 2011 05:41 pmThe past forty eight hours were probably the worst I'd experienced since coming back from San Francisco. The old insecurities and flagellation were out in full force. Friday started with such promise: a dinner party with friends filled with conversation and sangria. Following that there was a trip to visit Lisa and Francesca at Wonder Bar, for a taste of how the hip hop world kicks it. The occasional free shots helped make the evening flow by.
Saturday I assembled and primed more models, and got one of my league games in before returning for Sin-O-Matic. The sexiness factor was pretty off the chart; I felt amused shouldering my way through a wall of slack jawed men in front of Lisa's bar. Knowing the dancers helps put everything in perspective. It was a good night for dancing over all. One my SpinJam friends was especially on fire, he bounded, leaped, and spun with amazing grace and speed. He reminded me of myself, about twenty years ago. I was distressed to see the glow poi invading the dance floor here too.
Sunday I rested, avoiding most of the heat and catching up on Torchwood: Miracle Day and True Blood. I got to sleep a little later than usual but not abnormally so.
Monday. Monday was horrible. Zombie-like for most of the day, irritable, whiny, stressing about work issues and bombed with doubts. The anxiety rose up at SpinJam when some familiar faces showed up, and it continued at Thud later on. I did a bit of talking and trying to control myself, and left frustrated but in control.
Tuesday. A repeat of Monday, squared. Where did the man from San Francisco go? Was he a dream, an illusion. The day dragged on. Tickets were closed. A new girl I met at the previous club nights tracked me down on line. Conclusions were made. The man from San Francisco is still here. Two days are an abberation in my new norm. Tomorrow is almost here. Let's salvage today.
Saturday I assembled and primed more models, and got one of my league games in before returning for Sin-O-Matic. The sexiness factor was pretty off the chart; I felt amused shouldering my way through a wall of slack jawed men in front of Lisa's bar. Knowing the dancers helps put everything in perspective. It was a good night for dancing over all. One my SpinJam friends was especially on fire, he bounded, leaped, and spun with amazing grace and speed. He reminded me of myself, about twenty years ago. I was distressed to see the glow poi invading the dance floor here too.
Sunday I rested, avoiding most of the heat and catching up on Torchwood: Miracle Day and True Blood. I got to sleep a little later than usual but not abnormally so.
Monday. Monday was horrible. Zombie-like for most of the day, irritable, whiny, stressing about work issues and bombed with doubts. The anxiety rose up at SpinJam when some familiar faces showed up, and it continued at Thud later on. I did a bit of talking and trying to control myself, and left frustrated but in control.
Tuesday. A repeat of Monday, squared. Where did the man from San Francisco go? Was he a dream, an illusion. The day dragged on. Tickets were closed. A new girl I met at the previous club nights tracked me down on line. Conclusions were made. The man from San Francisco is still here. Two days are an abberation in my new norm. Tomorrow is almost here. Let's salvage today.
