Turning. Brain party.

Last night my pirouette from fifth at the barre (that is at least two awful things strung together. Pirouettes at the barre, AKA: smashing your knee in to a stationary hard object with force. AKA: if you had a REAL partner you would have just kneed him in the balls, way to go! PLUS pirouettes from fifth, which just suck.) was declared "awesome!"
Of course, it was only one out of six of the damn things, but I threw a little brain party, anyway. There was confetti raining down, and sparklers. I am pretty sure I heard a few noisemakers in the background, you know, along with all that cheering like the ball just dropped on New Year's Eve.

In the next class I discovered that it's not hard to turn en pointe. It's hard to STOP turning en pointe. If you use any force whatsoever you just... keep on going...

Defiance

I don't have a lot to say right now because, let's face it, at the moment the whole ballet part of my brain is still excited about my acceptance to MIT (the Moose Institute of Toe-dancing. It's a Rocky and Bullwinkle joke, and I am terribly sorry if you are too young and/or not cool enough to get it. Netflix streaming, guys.) and my slow and steady progression in class. Two classes in I could already feel the difference in strength during technique class and three classes in I am starting to find my balance, though it is still pretty shaky business. I am also pretty sure I will NEVER get tired of hearing my teacher say "RPrin! You look so god en pointe! I just can't get over it!". I wanna hear it, babe! Don't get over it on my account! Flattery and compliments are a very strong motivating influence in my life, so keep it coming.

I shall now change the subject, because I know you are tired of hearing about pointe class, pointe shoes, and pointe EVERYTHING. Geeze, girl, get over your silly satin shoes and talk about something else for a while! Okay, okay! You don't have to be so grumpy about it, sheesh.

It occurs to me that it has been a bit over a year, now, since my last disastrous appointment with my rheumatologist. It took months to work up the nerve to file the complaint about it. It has taken me this long to even contemplate calling Kaiser for another appointment. I sometimes wonder if that is their goal: to make you so angry, depressed, and otherwise emotionally exhausted that you just give up and leave them alone.
Anyway, I am trying to psych myself in to it, but I think it's going to take me a little while.

My new goal is to combine these two topics by having someone photograph me standing en pointe and holding my cane. Ballet is my defiance.

I'd Like to Thank the Little People. Oh Crap, Did I Already Use That Joke Title?

More compliments? They had better watch out or I might start, I dunno, believing them or something.
After mixed-level class tonight my teacher assured me that I had "improved dramatically".
Of course, when I started taking class a year and a half ago I could barely make it through pliés, so YES, there has been dramatic improvement. It just never feels like it when you are the only person in a room full of students that is doing a pirouette and everyone else is doing the thing they are actually supposed to be doing.
For example, during petite allegro tonight I was having one of those "I totally can't follow what the music is doing so I am just going to have to make it up as I go" moments. I have a lot of those moments. I came away from class with this thoroughly stuck in my head:

What can I say, Dad played me a lot of 60's music when I was a kid.

Alliterative Reflections After Class

You know you're an adult ballet student/arthritic old lady when... you find yourself saying "you know what I'd really like for an anniversary present, honey? Compression socks"

After class last night a couple of people told me that I had improved a lot in the last couple of months. One of the compliment fairies (like tooth fairies? Only they bring you compliments instead of taking teeth?) was our perpetually perfect, pretty, and perky (puhpuhpuhpuh) teenager who always kicks all our old asses out there on the floor. It was nice but seemed really strange. I always feel a bit like the class I am in is the hardest class I have ever taken, you know? Like... maybe I'm getting worse. Or more tired. Or for some reason I just haven't got the mojo working this time. But then the next class comes along and I feel the EXACT SAME WAY. I think the rush of endorphins dulls your memory.