Day 2: Smokin' Crackers

The wet, 35 degree air of Yakima that charged into my car as I slammed the door shut reeked of fear and dread. I blasted my music in hopes that I could drown out the miniaure devil on my left shoulder. A fun-size version of myself dressed in a red tutu with flame decorated tights whispered into my left ear, "Why are you doing this to yourself? Your back hurts like crazy, your hips are going to break, you're never going to be able to dance at UW so why are you even trying?" I turned the music up louder. The little mexican man in the low rider next to me looked in the direction of the blaring techno. I figured I would soak in as much of the goodness as possible before I stepped into the studio where the Chinese Nutcracker would practically drive me Nuts enough to smoke Crackers.

Blonde ponytail girl's black and pink polka dotted bra was half clasped underneath her backless leotard this week. It was really bothering me so I fixed my eyes on it as I did my pliés. When you take into consideration the fact that pliés are just bending your knees while holding onto a bar, you'd figure that I'd do better, but it has become devastatingly obvious that I am possibly the most ungraceful person....ever. Tell me to "stanky leg" or "jerk" or "crip walk," and I will walk it out, but ballet isn't something you can figure out. Somebody is going to have to tell you how to breath and what to flex and how to flex it, I flexed muscles that I didn't even know existed tonight. It is a whole new world of technique that I couldn't have imagined and along with the respect that I have gained for every single ballerina from Preschool to Julliard, I have learned that it doesn't matter how much natural ability you have or do not have, ballet takes a lot of practice and dedication and is very rarely something that you can just "pick up." This is a new thing for me. I am not used to being so freaking horrible.

My favorite was when the teacher told everyone that they had 30 seconds to teach BreAnna how to do the...somethingsomethingsomething... I don't know what the word is and even if I did, I would probably spell it just as well as I did it across the floor tonight...not well at all. If someone could do me a favor and tell my arms to please communicate with the rest of my body, that would be awesome. It's like they have their own little minds located in my armpits or something. On the plus side, my turns were pretty bomb.com this evening. I've been practicing my turn out so I pop locked and dropped some of those doubles.

For the most part, this week was a step in the correct general direction. I left the studio frustrated and confused because I just can't get down the choreography for the Chinese Nutcracker, plus, I missed out on a performance for my dance team that I actually wanted to be at, but when I got home I was comforted by my mom's voice telling me that it will all be worth it. I notice that unlike on sitcoms, my fun-size self is only one sided. There's mini-me with a pitchfork on my left shoulder, and my mom on my right shoulder. I would rather listen to her than a little me in an angel costume anyways so I guess it all works out.

Goal this week: stretch toes as to avoid another fatal pointing-toe cramp incident. Pray for me!

Love,
BalleBREna