Notes On A Recital

Dance.

From a list of things to do pinned to my dance bag:

cut hair ribbons (46)

iron skirts (24)

move buttons

playlist (with notes)

bloomers and booty shorts

1 blue boa

schedule extra rehearsal

dolls finale

prep dance camp

staff list

get sets from storage

find other shoe

take aspirin

eat food

Just Say No

Boundaries.

I am notoriously bad at setting boundaries. Or keeping them, for that matter. This is especially true if it comes to time, money, or emotionally draining people. I could cite any number of examples, but suffice it to say in the last three months, I have twice given money to people who have not even been bothered to be nice to me in recent times, or even not so recent times. Last week I gave three months notice to a job for which I work only one hour a week, but managed to let them coax three unpaid hours of time out of me to train someone who they are not sure they will actually hire. Also, I have a client that is rude, monopolizes my time, and generally makes me feel badly that I continue to instruct because, well, I'm not sure. Mostly, I feel bullied, like a school kid that just wants people to like her. Contrary to what you might think, I did not get a sense of satisfaction, of holding the moral high ground, or of compassionate sainthood from these deeds. In fact, they made me feel worse for knowing that I had been taken advantage of, that I am unable to stand up for myself, and that I value the wrong peoples opinions of me. And you know what? People do like me, not all of them, but plenty enough for a happy life. So, what does one do? Stop being charitable? Stop giving to people in need? Stop helping out? No. Of course not. But I m determined to change to whom I gift my time and energy. I can give money and time to strangers, charitable organizations, or even just people who bother to say thank you and feel much better about the world and myself in it. As for the boundaries, one thing at a time.

www.rubygonewild.com

Things For A Monday Morning

Sundry.

The first morning of the week for me is often just the tangled remainder of a too-busy weekend that leaves me feeling more paralyzed than invigorated. From the tangle:

The cat has thrown up on the rug. I discover this by stepping in it in my socks.

I wore every pair of dance pants and tights I own over the weekend. I have four hours to do all of my laundry. Or I could just wear dirty pants.

I log on to email. 44 messages. I log back off.

I open my calendar to figure out my day, it is blank, just like the rest of the week. I put updating my new calendar on my mental list of things to do. I also put making a tangible list of things to do on it.

I drink the last of the coffee and think about the grocery store. Then I think about drinking more tea.

I walk downstairs and back up, three times, unable to remember what it is I am looking for.

I step in the wet spot from where I cleaned up after the cat in my last pair of clean socks.

I take a deep breath. I consider hunger and homelessness and addiction and violence and any number of other things worse than dirty socks and cat puke. I decide that attitude is everything. One thing at a time.