Inspiration and Defeatism

Honestly, I had a really awful ballet week. I suppose there are just stretches of time in which you feel overwhelmed, unprepared, incompetent, and just plain lost. There are times like that in any pursuit, I suppose. Even in real life. I know there are days when I feel like I have no idea why I am considered so great at my job (brag brag) when holy crap, I have struggled all damn day to do something ridiculously easy. Eventually the feeling passes. Eventually you bang out a string of perfect buttonholes or land a double pirouette. But while you are feeling the slump there is very little you can say to yourself that sounds positive.   My teacher has been stepping up the complexity of our center work to the point that I now feel like I am utterly floundering and starting to question how I have spent the past year + in level three classes and still can't dance my way out of a sack...

Anyway. So that is how I have been feeling this week. Yesterday I ran across this post on a tumblr blog called Brilliant Broad. It was inspiring and I asked if I could share it with you guys, and she graciously agreed. I am going to let her post speak for itself:

Anyway, it reminded me of the good things about dancing and I needed that. Way to go, Brilliant Broad. Way to go all of us adult beginners and awkward/unlikely dancers. Long may we ronde de jambe.

Health Stuff Blah

I'm feeling less dire about things today, but I decided to publish this post from a few days ago, anyway. For the sake of ... honesty? Completeness? Who else thinks the word "completeness" is stupid? It's one of those that should really have another tense. Like "completion" would sound better, but sadly it means something else. Sigh...

So, the horrible foot tendon thing that I was experiencing last week has (mostly) gone away. I babied it so much that I actually started getting foot cramps from lack of use! Silly. Silly and yet...

My shins splints are edging very slowly toward feeling better. I can jump! Sort of! (I mean, I am capable of jumping. Not that I am good at it.) It's been a very long and slow process to get to this point. And they still twinge at me when I try to do something like a ballotté, cabrioles, or hopping turns. Well... hmph. Hopping turns are dumb looking, anyway.

It's funny (not like "funny ha ha") the way I have become so utterly terrified of every new and unusual ache, pain, or click. I feel like at any moment I will "lose" another part of my body, but I never know which part, or when. Will it be my lower back, which has been aching for the past few days? Or will it be that pole of tightness down my achilles on cold mornings? My hips, that clonk and grab at me when lowering out of développé? Which part of me will fail completely enough to be in constant pain? And will it be a part I need in order to make it through my day? My work? My hobbies? I had to stop shooting my bow several years ago, will I have to stop dancing, next? Driving? Living in an upstairs apartment? When does it reach the breaking point, the point at which my doctors will believe me when I say I need help? When I finally test positive on their bloodwork will I be confined to a wheelchair?
Truth to tell, it's all kind of nerve-wracking.
I try not to think about it too much, or I'd never get anything accomplished.

 All my mad Google skillz couldn't locate the original source or credit for this image.

As always, if you are or know the creator please let me know so I can properly attribute it. 

Built For Tutus

So we had all congregated in the lobby after class one night, and as is our norm some of the students were talking to our instructor. It's coming up on recital time, she reminded us, and we should start thinking about signing up! Well, said one of my classmates, I'll do it if I get to wear a tutu. And our instructor said, heck yes! If you want to wear a tutu you can TOTALLY wear a tutu. Rheumatic Princess, she says gesturing to me as I stumble in to my pants, would look GREAT in a tutu!
Hmm. I wonder what part of me has the look of "tutu" about it. She can't claim to not see that my proportions are all backwards. After all, she sees me in tighter clothing than anyone else EVER. Truly, I am pretty sure that I could get a tutu bodice to fit me with no problems. Because, thank god, dancers rarely have much by way of boobs and I am certainly as ethereal and waif-like on top as I am brick house-like on bottom.
Well, regardless of whether it would look good on me or not I intend to own a couple of tutus eventually. I figure as soon as I hit pointe I am buying a congratulatory rehearsal tutu, and then when I move in to a house with a separate sewing room I am buying the fabrics and beetle wings for my lifetime tutu. Because why the hell not.

Streeeeeetch it Out

Okay, so for the last couple of weeks I haven't been doing daily stretches, just to see how that would work out for me. Because they say you shouldn't be doing them cold, right? So. My final analysis: YUCK. Basically, while I love not having to spend ten minutes on the floor every day (which I always put off, and then put off again, and then suddenly it is midnight) my turn-out is crappier, my extension is crappier, and just trying to stand in fifth is kind of awkward and painful. SO forget that. Seriously. The hip warm up jobby is still awesome, though!

Quit While You Are Ahead

So, while we do changements facing the mirror I look myself over. And there are a lot of changements going on, so I get to take in the whole picture. And let's just say, the last few times, I have noticed a bit of... uh... wiggle in my walk. So to speak. Flubby thigh stuff kind of getting jiggy with it. It's a little sad. And every single time I think to myself "oh holy cats! That is awful! DIET". But then I go home and I'm all "BLT!" and I wake up the next day and I say to myself "Cookies for breakfast!" because I Do Not Understand dieting. And, basically, cake mix cookies are the easiest thing on the planet to make?
Sigh...

Accepted Wisdom

So I have read a couple of articles lately that say you should not stretch before a workout. One even included this amazing and colorful quote from none other than fitness guru Jack LaLanne : "Warming up is the biggest bunch of horseshit I've ever heard in my life. Fifteen minutes to warm up! Does a lion warm up when he's hungry? 'Uh-oh, here comes an antelope. Better warm up.' No! He just goes out and eats the sucker."
But as any dancer can tell you, stretching is important! Right?
Well, maybe yes, maybe no. My teacher advocates stretching (at least the calves and thighs if nothing else) after class/running/etc. And stretching is important for overall flexibility and extensions, yes?
Well, it turns out you should really only be stretching after you work out, rather than before, and not just plain cold, which is what I usually do on days when I have no class. But... hmm. I can't really jog or even walk much these days. I labor along with a very short and relatively mild bike ride most Friday mornings, but we are talking a few miles at most (as opposed to the 20+ I used to be able to do). And my hip joints pop so very uncomfortably and disconcertingly every time they hit a développé or grand battemant. So maybe I will just keep up with the hip stretches before class and then only do the other stuff afterward?
Ugh. So confusing.

IT'S GONE

Where is my waist? I know I had one. I left it right here (*gesture*). Who took my waist? Look, I won't be mad or anything. I will turn around and close my eyes and when I count to ten someone had better have left my waist on my desk.

Sew and Sew

You know the big pink title on my main blog page? The one up there (*gestures up*) that says "Rheumatic Princess"? It can't decide what font it wants to be. Every time I log in it is something new. Mostly it just switches between two fonts, but it is pretty weird. Blogger, WTF?
Anyway.
A couple of days ago I went ahead and whipped up another shorty leotard, exactly the same as the last one. They are pretty fast when you have the pattern down. For people who are curious about that sort of thing, here is what the pattern looks like. It is the style that has seams running down the center front and center back rather than down the sides:

Note: baby got back.

It's Also Zoloft's Fault That It Is An Election Year

So the most embarrassing thing happened in class on Monday.
I get sweaty. I mean, sure, of course, everyone gets sweaty in class, right? That is how you know you are doing it right. And the weather in my little slice of  "paradise" (quotation marks intentional) has been unseasonably warm and gross, lately. But I wasn't just glowing. There was nothing ladylike about this. I was sweating so much that halfway through barre it was actually, honest to god, dripping off of me. So gross. And my leotard? The new lighter weight one that I just made? SOAKED. Like, everywhere. All the way totally freakin' soaking wet. Even my headband was soaked through. I did feel like it was a particularly challenging barre, but seriously. Yucka. I came home and greeted my husband and he asked me not to touch him, okay? Like, yeah.

I think maybe it is the Zoloft. I know, I can't blame everything in the whole world on zoloft (sure I can! This weather? It is TOTALLY ZOLOFT'S FAULT) but the thing did say increased sweating was a possibility. Well, it also says prolonged erections are a possibility, but I certainly don't have any of those.

Shake It Like A Polaroid Picture

So in class today I learned that my impressions of last week, that the Zoloft was making me shaky, were correct and have not improved. It's not so bad when I can keep a death grip on the barre, but even balancing on flat on one foot is difficult in the center. So I looked at the information pamphlet that came with the bottle when I got home. It says "contact your doctor immediately if you experience any of these unlikey but serious side effects: easy bruising/bleeding, decreased interest in sex, decrease in sexual ability, muscle cramps/weakness, shaking or tremor"
So. I got to send my doctor yet another email when I got home tonight. It's a real pity, because this stuff really is making my brain feel better, and really does seem to be smacking down the pain a little, too. But, I will probably end up on something else yet again.
*sigh*

In other news:
We started spotting tonight. Which is good, we really need to learn that. We get all loopy and stumble around after chaînés turns. There are newly taped-up pieces of brightly colored paper on the walls so that we can focus on something easy.
I felt really terrible at our ever-present glissades. I mean, worse than usual. Must be the shakiness.
I stood next to a person at the barre who was AWESOME, though. I haven't seen her before, so maybe she was just visiting from the more advanced classes, but she really was amazing, and following her was a pleasure. Probably made me look ridiculous in comparison, but MEH.

Stop The World I Want To Get Off

Don't get me wrong, since I started taking the zoloft my general feeling of well-being has shot through the roof. My husband says I am back to my old self again, and he should know, right? The pain managment might be a little better than the nortriptyline by itself, as well.
But, uh... there are some... um... side effects. Yeeeeeah. Ones that you don't really want to discuss with your doctor, if you catch my meaning. Or, your mother. Or... anyone. But, in the name of full disclosure and helping out people who are frantically googling in hopes of learning more about their diseases or medications, I will tell you about it. Well, sort of. I mean, I will imply it. Because IT'S EMBARRASSING, GUYS!
So anyway. The information that came with it mentioned that men might have a bit of trouble with... this kind of issue. But, there isn't really a direct female equivalent of... the problem. Because girls are equipped differently. If you see what I mean. But anyway. So the ... trouble was a bit unexpected. And I am not sure what exactly you are supposed to do about it, either. I figure that they didn't warn me about it because the doctors involved in the study were all DUDES and they just didn't figure that it was terribly important for the ladies. Or, perhaps the ladies involved in the study were too embarrassed to mention it?
No kidding, guys, this is totally awkward.

ANYWAYS. Let us discuss something else so that you can stop thinking about it, okay?
Here is Odile. I find it interesting that of all the costumes I designed for this dolly, not a single tutu is constructed the way actual tutus are put together. They are usually two pieces (though I have seen ones like this, too) a bodice that is sort of bustier-styled, and a skirt which is a netting tutu with a decorative "plate" over the top of it and a matching basque, which is the top part of the skirt (it covers the territory between the plate and your waist.
This was some sort of maribou-trimmed concept. Also, that thing where the netting is white under a black costume is pretty common. It irks me as a designer, but I understand why it happens from a construction standpoint. 

Just Goes To Show

I am SO BAD about exercises. Especially foot exercises. Which I really need to be doing so that my feet don't ALWAYS cramp up just as we are doing reverence. Nothing looks better than a dancer bowing with her foot all bent up in front of her, am I right? Anyway.
And there are all these things I should be doing, but I get a good week or so in to a routine and then I hit the weekend, forget about it, and never go back to it again. For example I was trying to do these toe lifting exercises every time I took a bath (I don't take showers, because I have a claw foot tub. Also, I hate showers.). And It was going along just fine for a couple of weeks. And then... yeah. Therabanding my feet when I do stretches lasted a little longer. But then...
So yesterday I was reading up online about stuff I Should Be Doing to work my feet a bit more, and I ran across this article by a podiatrist recommending exercises to dancers. There was one specific move* that he recommended that cracked me up. Because, you see, it seemed like a natural thing to do so I had been doing it now and then. But it felt HORRIBLE so I assumed it was doing terrible things to me and that I should knock it the heck off! But no! It's a thing! And you are supposed to do it! OMG!
Anyway. There you go. You learn something new every day.

* the move goes like this: You sit in a chair (which I am doing 70% of the time anyway) and put your (bare or slippered) feet in demi-pointe on the floor. Then you point your toes against the floor, which pushes your feet up in to full pointe. Rinse and repeat.

Guess How Many Pills I Take Everyday. It is 7.

So. The next chapter in the saga of chemical substances that are being pumped in to my body.

I was feeling like the nortriptyline (a tricyclic used for treating chronic pain for those of you playing at home) was making me feel crazy and distressed. It has a suicidal ideation warning on the bottle, but the way I was feeling wasn't exactly depression. One of the symptoms of rheumatic conditions is depression, and it runs rampant through my family. Me and clinical depression are not what I would call old friends, but we are certainly old acquaintances. It was more like the sort of manic emotional state that you (okay, I) experience right before a period starts. You know, fine for a while and then tetchy and angry, and then despairing and fatalistic. Unable to concentrate on large quantities of anything. Extremely tired and unable to cope with people or things. Looking at the dishes like a mountain too high to climb. If you had never experienced clinical depression you might think that was what was going on.

Anyhow, so I emailed my doctor and said "get me off this crap, and make it snappy" and he emailed me back saying "no, we will just put you on another thing on top of it and that will solve the problem". I was FURIOUS. I actually spent a week or so sitting on it because I couldn't quite figure out what to say that didn't use curse words and would fit in the 1000 character limit that Kaiser imposes on it's emails. I also couldn't do research, because I would type something in to google and then look at the 11,735 related hits... and my mind would just shut right down and I would need to go take a nap and a shot. In the end I had to have my (poor sweet wonderful) husband research it for me and then cut and paste relevant bits of information, with highlighted sections so I would know what I needed to look at first, and send it to me as an email.
 Then I took about five hours trying to whittle down an email to a few talking points. And then I had my husband look it over to make sure it was intelligible. And finally, at 1am one morning, I hit send and off it went.
The bad news is I am now on ANOTHER !@#$ing drug on top of my original drugs. The good news is that I have been taking it for three days and feel a lot better (mentally, anyway) already. Cons: couldn't sleep last night which wasn't awesome. Supposed to make me gain even more weight. Can't wait to see how wide my ass can actually get before I snap in half. Pros: this is supposed to help with the pain as well as with the crazy. It's basically low-dose zoloft which is a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor and interacts with the tricylic (theoretically) to decrease pain and smack down some of the side effects.
We shall see.

Ain't Nobody Lookin' At You

I'm naturally deeply self conscious. I am not pretty, which is probably a good thing because I would just spend all day looking at myself in the mirror if I was. The point is that adults taking ballet classes are super self conscious because they feel old and lumpy and uncoordinated and much less graceful than the image of balletic perfection in their heads.
Which is the only explanation I can come up with for the fact that most people refuse to wear a leotard without at least a skirt or shorts to cover up with. And a sweater, sometimes. It is WAY too freakin' hot in the studio for me to deal with all those extra layers so I am often the only person in class (there were 13 students tonight!) who is wearing the standard ballet "uniform" of pink tights and shoes, black leo, and nothing else. Aw man. I love clothes. I love dress up. I love having hobbies with accessories and shoes and special things to wear. It's fun! Come on ladies! Step up to it!
Face it, even when we feel extra junky about our body the simple fact is that no one is paying any attention to you because they are focused on what they are doing. Like, no matter how many times tonight I wanted to see what the lady in the deshanked pointe shoes was doing in releve sous-sus, I was too busy getting myself up there to check on anyone else!

Port De Bras Forever

I could do port de bras all day long. Like, seriously, all day long. It is that one moment in class where I am standing in front of the mirror and I actually think to myself DAMN I LOOK GREAT. And there are precious few moments in life that make me feel that way. It's all about the port de bras. And also the fact that we are standing in croisé, which is sort of at an angle and makes you look narrow and tall. If you don't believe me look at the models in Vogue. Croisé. 
Also, port de bras sort of short circuits my brain a little so that I focus a lot less on what I am doing with my feet. Chassé with port de bras is way more fun than chassé with arms in second. It probably looks like a hot mess, but at least you can focus on something other than HOLY COW I HATE THIS PART.

The Art of Distraction

I was browsing through neatorama.com when I came upon a link to this story. It's about a guy with rheumatoid arthritis so advanced that he has to type his novels with a chopstick. I couldn't even get through it. I just skimmed. I am sure it is supposed to sound like an inspiring triumph, but to me it is utterly terrifying. I already know my time may be more than a bit limited. It's why I quit my retail job and took up dancing again. If I only have five years (ten years, two years, six months...) to live the way I do, then I will be damned if I am living it not dancing and stuck behind the wrap desk at a craft store.

I just try to distract myself. So I was thinking tonight, as I drove home from class, about the myriad ways ballet is a lot like sex.
You work up a sweat and get out of breath
You might think that make up will help, but you will just sweat it off anyway
If you haven't done it for a long time you are worried you'll be rubbish at it
Sometimes, no matter how much you like it, you just wish it was over
It's a little hard to pee afterward (TMI but you know it's true)
If the people you usually do it with aren't there you feel a little awkward
If you only do it once a week it's still better than not doing it at all.
the list could go on!

SMACK!

My husband and I have been watching a show on Netflix, and whenever a particular character whom he hates says anything the hubby says "SMACK!"
You know, because she's so stupid you want to smack her? Hey, at least he's not all hot for every pretty girl on TV, am I right?
Anyway, so a couple of weeks back I was in such terrible pain and was so stiff in the knees that I could hardly walk. I frantically e-mailed my doctor and begged for help. Anything. A different pain killer or anti-inflammatory. A referral back to a rheumatologist or physical therapist. ANYTHING. He responded by sending me in for x-rays and said vaguely that maybe he'd think about steroid injections if he saw whatever the hell he was looking for on the x-rays. Okay. Fine. I was pretty sure that the x-rays would show NOTHING, because I have had every part of my body x-rayed already. So it was just a day that I had to spend in a silly hospital gown standing next to a pole with the words 'left" and "right" written on it in lead, and feeling self conscious about the holes in my socks while getting bombarded with radiation for no reason. But that isn't what annoyed me.
I heard nothing from my doctor for two weeks, and then last week I received a letter in the mail. It said "x-rays unremarkable. No damage or  defects found". Signed sealed delivered. Not a word on what that means to him, or why he made me take the stupid x-rays in the first place when all evidence points to a problem that is not related to my bones in any way. I should write back to him, but I am too livid to even deal with the man right now. I don't even care what the condition is anymore! I just want a treatment for the symptoms! But every time I say a thing to a doctor within this shitty HMO all I get is "we don't know what's wrong with you".
SMACK!

Stand Up Straight

One of the big reasons I decided to go in to this whole ballet thing (aside from the fact that I enjoy it) was because my posture could use some serious help. It's... it's really bad. I have scoliosis and sort of a sway back, and when I think I am standing up straight I am actually sort of leaning backwards. That can't be making the joints in my legs and hips any better.
For the first two months of class I was being corrected on my posture CONSTANTLY. But as soon as we started doing all of our barre work with one hand on the barre (so I could finally see myself in the mirror from the side) I figured out what correct posture is supposed to look like. Doing it without the help of a mirror is a bit tricky, still.
I guess until I was 30 freaking years old I didn't know what correct posture felt like. It feels sort of unnatural, like I am hunching my upper back, but I'm not. Also, I have to pull my tummy in constantly, a trick I am attempting to practice more in daily life. Like sitting on the bus today. Repeating a little mantra in my head.
Tummy in, shoulders forward, tummy in, shoulders forward, tummy in, shoulders forward...