Looks like I am not going to class tonight because I have a stomach flu (dang it! I was really looking forward to going to an extra class this week, too, but now it will have to be my make up class). I still have to get up and be functional enough to drive to the post office, though. Ugh
I don't know why I am writing? Perhaps I am delirious with sickness and have begun to spout random acts of solemn prose. Like a Victorian lady in convalescence. Someone bring me my wicker wheelchair and plaid blanket and I shall recline mournfully in the sun...
Tangentially ballet related news: a dude was just killed by a swan. I know, I know. I said it was tangential. People online are saying "What? How could a swan kill a dude?" but these are obviously people who have never met a swan. Swans are not like geese. Swans are like four geese duct-taped together. Big. Strong. And ANGRY at the WORLD. A baby swan (cygnet, which is a cute word, right?) is about the size and shape of a full-grown duck. And a grown-up swan is a massive creature all full of muscle and grim determination to KILL YOU DEAD. I mean, I like swans well enough, don't get me wrong. But they are best treated with a degree of respect. Most birds are fiercely territorial. A hummingbird will attack a human. So will a swan. But when a swan comes at you you STEP ASIDE.
So maybe it's logical that ballerinas and swans are so often connected in the collective consciousness? A ballerina could probably kick a grown man to death, too. But she's far less likely to.