I’m moving again. And I can’t wait to get the fuck out of my current abode. While my home is more than twice the distance from the dumpster than my previous apartment, the injury to my ear and hearing left me so sensitive that I have ended up with horrific nerve pain and further compromised hearing when people have thrown away their trash.
My living room — which is always my dance studio — is closest to the dumpster, as is my office upstairs. Those two areas are the ones with the most space to dance. I know I should just dance on whatever wherever. I know I know. In retrospect. As I look back on the past month, though, I have barely danced. It just feels so constricting, after the glorious two years of spacious living room dancing and healing I did in my Los Angeles sanctuary.
So I can’t wait to get out of here and create a new sanctuary elsewhere. But meanwhile I’m going to do some guerilla dancing. Challenging my ass to take my advice and dance on or in chairs, tables, floors, kitchens, hallways, bathrooms, beds, whatever, wherever. Because we can’t always control our circumstances. But we can always dance.