In Which The Climate Proves Impressively Changeable

As we thrash and dive between frigid cold and unseasonable warmth, I find myself swaddled in more layers than I would have ever thought possible, either sweating or shivering regardless the arrangement of clothing. Hence, I have spent entirely too much time whining about climate change and cursing my feeble and overstressed immune system. I’m hovering on the edge of a cold pretending that vitamin C packets will counteract the vacillations of the weather. Wish me luck.

This impending cold is also my excuse for the relatively unremarkable week that I’m about to relay to you all here. You’ll also be delighted to know that if you wade through the mundanity of the first three days, you’ll find yourself reading about an absolutely lovely dance weekend. So bear with me, or skip to the end if you’d prefer. I won’t mind.

Tuesday saw me attempting to catch up on the laundry situation that was rapidly devolving into chaos in the corner of my room. I should have dealt with it over the weekend, but it was just so darn cold I couldn’t bring myself to schelp a whole bag of laundry back and forth through the weather. Fortunately, by the time Tuesday came ‘round we were moving back into more temperate climes and I was able to reduce my layer situation to a single sweater and jacket pairing. Regardless the weather, after hauling laundry up and down the stairs all evening, I elected to spend the rest of my night lounging about watching stand up comedy and reading. There are worse ways to spend a night especially when the following morning requires you to be functional enough to schmooze with business types by 8:30am. Spoiler alert: despite my restful evening, my schmoozing could definitely still use some work.

Yes, come Wednesday morning, I was at work from 8am until it came time to step out to Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce event. The event ran late and I was beginning to feel the first tickles of a sore throat so I may have bailed a bit on the networking. But hey, there was good information in the talk and free breakfast on the table so it was still net positive. After wrapping up the rest of my day at work, I headed down to my literacy gig for an hour and fifteen before it was time to head into the city to change for a very busy night of dance. Karel Flores is back in town so it was time to get my salsera on for an intense hour and a half before hopping off to westie. As always, the class was an excellent blend of full on body movement, fantastically fast footwork, and enough direction changes to make your head spin. I loved it. As per usual, this also meant that my silly butt arrived to westie in no condition to behave. I was a ball of spazzy, endorphin fuelled energy which is seldom conducive to good west coast swing dancing. I did however to try a friend’s jazz boots which might just be the best thing to ever happen to my feet. They are so tired of being poured into scrappy dance sandals and so I have been wearing ballet flats, but ballet flats with their complete absence of heel have been stressing my hamstrings more than is entirely comfortable. The happy little half inch on the heel of the jazz boots however? It’s perfection. I liked them so well that I ordered a pair of my own the very next day. (They arrived today and I’m terribly excited to wear them at westie this week).

Delightfully, after dance I got to take an exciting adventure through the bowels of the MTA and by the time I finally made it home through all the diversions, there was very little time left for sleep. I suspect that this may have played some role in the fact that, come Thursday evening, I was feeling a little snuffly and sore-throated which is my main excuse for spending the entire evening at home packing for the weekend and wandering across the trackless savannah that is Amazon.com. It was not the most productive evening.

And then finally it was Friday. It was bagel day at work so my efforts to be healthy were already foiled which of course meant that, once I got out of work, I grabbed some pizza, fetched my bags and headed into Soho to collect the first of my dance weekend buddies from work. From Patrick’s office, we dropped into Target, then fought the crowds through Penn, dumped ourselves on a crowed NJT train and shortly thereafter found ourselves at Secaucus Junction waiting for the rest of our party. Rather later we were on the road to Philly with an awesome posse of westie people (Jessie, Kevin, Patrick, et moi), ready for Freedom Swing. We grabbed some dinner on the drive and arrived into the event hotel around 10:40pm. Being responsible types, we spent sometime chilling in the room resting and recovering before heading down to dance the entire night away. Yes, the entire night. We ate breakfast when the hotel restaurant opened at 7am and then dumped our danced out carcasses into bed.

A few hours later, I woke up to have my shoulders kneaded into submission by the inimitable Bonnie Cannon-Subey. She’s a magician of body work and if I was somewhat less broken I might have even been cured entirely. As it stands she got me sorted out enough to survive the weekend but I definitely still need work if I ever hope to be fully free of roving tension headaches and scapular agony. However, I do now have exercises and hopefully the motivation to do them, so we might yet make progress.

Once I was loosened up, it was time to compete and I must admit that it was a very mixed bag. Regardless, I managed to make finals and now have my first intermediate point. Let’s not talk about the draw or the placement that got me there. Fortunately, at Freedom the finals and awards are on the same day as the prelims so the entire anxiety inducing agony is over by Saturday evening and you are free to behave as irresponsibly as you’d like. I used that freedom to drink copiously with Edem, scream loudly for the shows, and then crash for about an hour and a half before peeling my sobered up self out of bed and onto the dance floor for the rest of the night. Yup. We were up until breakfast again and it was excellent. I had all the fun, crazy dances with all the best company and we even fit in a bit of stretching so I’m only mostly broken today.

Sunday morning we crawled out of bed in time to make check out and got back in the car to drive back home. It was a lively drive full of all the chats despite our various levels of exhaustion and the incredible frigidity of the outdoors. Sometime around late afternoon, after schlepping through the cold and confusion of the MTA, I found myself back in my humble apartment eating a grilled cheese sandwich and plotting a nap. I attempted to keep my napping to a reasonable minimum to avoid ruining my sleep schedule but honestly could probably have just slept all the way through. I woke up this morning feeling somewhat refreshed but even closer to a cold so, after a bit of grocery shopping and meal prep, I have dedicated the day to napping, reading, and attempting to recover. I have grand ambitions of being entirely recovered by 8am tomorrow but somehow it seems unlikely. Wish me luck.

And on that note, I’m going to slither back into bed and pretend that another pack of vitamin C will tip me over into health.

Con Amore,
The Salsa Girl

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