Radio silence from the G.I.Q. and I am going haywire.
I am making big plans without you, sir. Shit is blooming everywhere and trains are barreling towards the station. When the right one comes, I'm leaping. Don't say you weren't warned.
I am making big plans without you, sir. Shit is blooming everywhere and trains are barreling towards the station. When the right one comes, I'm leaping. Don't say you weren't warned.
Energies conspire. Sometimes the Universe aligns the flagstones for you. All you have to do is put one foot in front of you with commitment, and the frequencies will match up to carry you across.
Receive the lead and follow it.
It was an awfully selfish weekend, full of rehearsing and appointments and dancing. After Peter and I made brunch for his family (because any day that begins with eggs and champagne must be a good one), I spent a few hours sunning on a crowded patch of grass with Em, listening to the tango strains from the milonga on the pier, before committing the gravest act of sacrilege imaginable: going to Roko during the home opener.
I d-voed the game. I mean, come on, I wasn't going to miss that spectacular Youk-a-thon in a marathon creaming of the champion Yanks. But I didn't watch it live and, consequently, I'm a little bewildered. Maybe it was a pissy reaction to Non-Date's utter lack of interpersonal skills, his monumental failure to communicate. Maybe it was just a one-off whim.
I swear, I think my father almost disowned me.
And yet, I refuse to apologize. I reconnected with a good friend, scored a second tanda with The Whisperer and ended up with plans for focused practice. I smiled unabashedly at good leaders and . . . the Red Sox won!
Slowly, I come to grips with the fact that I have found my constant trump card. Very simply: I would rather be dancing.
Receive the lead and follow it.
It was an awfully selfish weekend, full of rehearsing and appointments and dancing. After Peter and I made brunch for his family (because any day that begins with eggs and champagne must be a good one), I spent a few hours sunning on a crowded patch of grass with Em, listening to the tango strains from the milonga on the pier, before committing the gravest act of sacrilege imaginable: going to Roko during the home opener.
I d-voed the game. I mean, come on, I wasn't going to miss that spectacular Youk-a-thon in a marathon creaming of the champion Yanks. But I didn't watch it live and, consequently, I'm a little bewildered. Maybe it was a pissy reaction to Non-Date's utter lack of interpersonal skills, his monumental failure to communicate. Maybe it was just a one-off whim.
I swear, I think my father almost disowned me.
And yet, I refuse to apologize. I reconnected with a good friend, scored a second tanda with The Whisperer and ended up with plans for focused practice. I smiled unabashedly at good leaders and . . . the Red Sox won!
Slowly, I come to grips with the fact that I have found my constant trump card. Very simply: I would rather be dancing.
Posts
2 comments:
If you've got a choice...always, always, always choose dancing.
And huzzah for the Red Sox kicking butt. :)
Well said Phoenix, I was gonna say myself, that heartsurging flight is nothing any GQ GiQ can take away from you.
"I am making big plans without you, sir. Shit is blooming everywhere and trains are barreling towards the station. When the right one comes, I'm leaping. Don't say you weren't warned."=awesome.
"Shit is blooming everywhere" is one of my favorite lines in a long time. Hahahaha. Kudos.
xo
S-O
Post a Comment