Suddenly 19 days in, I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t have titled these more creatively.
In for a penny in for a pound as they say. Aka giving in to the sunk-cost blunder.
Yesterday I decided I wanted to get some exercise, so I put on my 60s dance party playlist and danced around my room much to Scout’s chagrin. It was probably the first time I’ve just been my normal goofy self in about … 19 days.
I opened the window to let in the rain-cooled air. Gray-blue fog was creeping up from the ocean, but I could still see the lights from San Francisco. I kept trying to get Scout to dance with me but he refused. Probably jealous of my skills.
I feel things intensely. It’s part of why I’m a writer – I need an outlet for all the emotions roiling inside of me. It’s part of why depression hits me so hard – the utter grayness, the absolute belief that nothing is left. It has made these past few weeks incredibly difficult. Every moment seems filled with new disaster, and unless I don’t hear about it, I feel it to my core.
Dancing like a dork to my favorite songs all alone in my room I felt free again. For just a few minutes, I was eight-years-old, in my awesome velvet jumpsuit, listening to Lesley Gore and The Angels for the first time.
For just a minute, I could imagine a world with dancing in it again.
Dance on, says I.