Since booking the course I have rested so insanely easy with myself that I'm scared for the time when I am no longer bathed in this contentment. If I hadn't heard of the Three Marriages I might in fact myself be alluding to the three marriages; work, relationships and the self, and how when in supreme balance you just feel so, light. Add no carbs and we're talking lite light. My 30s dress and this nail varnish and that book on the ratten chair next to the blooming tomatoes so perfect I just think it could all end at this moment and I'd die quite happy. I got my new license in the post this week and counted how many more dire photos until death; it didn't feel heavy but plain.
I've been floating all week. After watching an old coffee crush read in a new context on Monday, I just thought, that's it, this chasm between me and them, this ugly hero-worship that I'm slopping about in, this me being in the performers area as an admin and you being in the performers area as a talented truth, well it's got to stop. No more. After the reading I treated myself to solo Vietnamese (on a Monday!) and looked up the courses she mentioned. I checked my Croatia-bound week in August, and 'one possible female shared space, please call Dan' plus a tutor I am inspired by, made my heart rush. I want this, I thought. I think I really want this. It doesn't feel like a excuse or a trend following or a peer pressure or a trial or a suffering, but it feels like a chance. I have a chance to close this gap between where I am and where I want to be, and if it doesn't work, then not only have I tried but I will gladly go back to the day job because it's actually brilliant. I have a brilliant day job thanks and you'd want it.
I've been blaming the day job for my disquiet (yet another book I half-started...) for some weeks now, probably as it's the only thing I've had within grasp. The self was medicated with yoga but didn't yoke so much as curdle, the bliss coating the hard ground and running off the sides wastefully in the light of day. Relationships were dealt with trepidatiously. Not that 'a pull' (as she so lovingly put it) is the epitome and sole goal of 'relationships', but it's felt like it. So this week I started to Talk To Boys. Find ways to talk and engage and a reason to speak. In the tent at 1.30am it was a self-rhetorical question, is this band running over? Because I'd like to talk to you about my knowledge of the following band, and perhaps you will find me not only scintillating but cute, as I coincidentally find you on my better side.
I talked to the coffee crush author the day after, I need a reason I need a reason, I panted as he crowd-weaved, I made one up, another self-rhetoric which worked, despite not delivering a phone number or card swap. That was his girlfiend or his agent, I didn't know. The next day at dancing I pursued an old crush by way of his 'Virgina is for lovers' t-shirt. I was really pushing my luck and didn't work our if he had got married since I last saw him, or whether the ex-lover he went to Virginia with was also his ex-fiance. He withheld the vitals but did set me up a double-handed high-five that I wasn't quite cool enough to reciprocate. Yesterday I eyed up a gay boy before I knew he was, and another courier crush clocked me as he ran a bus lane on red and mistook my 'whoa that was close' for a, 'whoa you are hot'. It was funny. As it should be. I lay in bed last Friday asking for a change, and it came. I'm both watching it happen and not standing in its way.
*self-rhetoric is not the right word but I can't think what is. A question asked with a known answer as a conversational device*
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