don't dare me, thread
Blog this, baby Thread growled as she ran a tape measure from my right nipple to my left. I snickered a little and tried not to be ticklish. Around us, some of my troupemates were eating chocolates and carrots as others were showing the choreographies they're going to be doing for Undulation. Thread finished taking my measurements--eleven and a half inch bicep, flexed; the diameter of my hips and ribcage. I took off the mockup of the top she's designing for us, returned her bra, put my own top on and sat down to watch Andrea and Holly do the tray piece as Thread moved on to Deb. Yvette handed me a plastic cup of red wine.
I know that my troupemates keep saying that things get harder as we get close to a big show, more tense, more stressful, but so far I'm having a great time. Other than the challenge that was getting the press release together, of course. What I'm seeing is a group of people trying to build a beautiful, intense thing, and if we get a little snappish with each other, a little heated, it's just because we all care so strongly about making it work. And with Thread making our costumes, I'm so pleased to have an ally from the outside who is going to make us look great (the top looked awesome on everyone who tried it on).
The finale choreography is coming together. And although I was off on the chest circles the first time we ran through it and Jill called me on it, she did single me out later during a part my group is still sorting out as having done something visually strong and "sculptural". Now if only I knew what it was...I suspect it was a bit where I interact with Yvette. Wish I could describe it more, but hey, you'll just have to come see for yourself, if you're not in Japan or Germany or Singapore or someplace like that. The point is, I'm still feeling like I'm contributing something, and I'm having fun with the women in the grouping I'm in (I almost wrote groping, which is also accurate) as we play with the shifting moods of the music. It still feels great.
Unlike my knees, which are protesting a drop halfway through the song (keep forgetting that I mean to buy thin kneepads, dangnabit), and my neck, which still hurts, and indeed my whole body, which is protesting. I'm going to try to get to bed early tonight and hit a yoga class tomorrow; I think it would also make sense for me to cut down on my sugar-and-trash consumption for the next few weeks and try to keep it clean, diet-wise. No point in stressing my system any more than is necessary. Not sure how I'm going to write this week's article without a bag of cookies by my side. Maybe I'll replace them with a tasty green-goo drink (warning: link is to story that involves cancer) full of barley grass and spirulina masked by mango and pineapple. Maybe instead of "warming up to write" by playing a few rounds of solitaire I'll lie on my grandmother's rag rug and do a couple dozen crunches.