Operation Mini-Skirt: -44.4 lbs.
Mood: it's taken a slight dip since the mysterious euphoria of yesterday. But at least I lost two pounds.
I want to start dancing again.
I want to start acting again.
I used to be creative and artsy and active. I used to have an agent, and go to auditions and work on monologues in my spare time. I was in community theatre for a couple of seasons where - on purpose, even - I garnered a lot of laughs on stage. Before the Breaking of the Leg, I'd happily spend 4 nights a week at a dance studio, fox-trotting to my heart's content, preparing for my next showcase, my next choreographed routine, my next reason to joyously pour ridiculous amounts of money into my latest addiction.
I don't know... somewhere along the line, it all stopped. I got old. I got practical. I turned into my mother. I got lazy? Maybe that's it. I know I got fat. But that's more or less gone now, so maybe it is time for me to do something to expend my stored up creative energy. God knows, it should be used for more than thinking up interesting excuses to tell my family when they ask me why I'm not married yet...
* * *
I'm wearing a pristine white sweater today. I'm also taking bets as to how long it will take before I bump into someone eating chilli or something.
* * *
I finally got around to scratching one of the lotto cards I received in my Christmas stocking, and won myself ten dollars. I never win anything, so I should have been jumping for joy when I realised that I had won ten bucks. The fact that I merely smiled and murmured, "Cool" worries me.
Have I become dead on the inside? Or *gasp* have I become like everyone else? Do I now proportion my joy accordingly, not bothering to do a happy dance for the tiniest bit of good news? Have I become subdued in the face of good tidings? Have I become... God... have I become... urk... reasonable?
My reputation for becoming unreasonably happy about silly, little things is far-reaching into the past, and equally unwavering in it's consistency. A date for coffee with friends I saw every day always had me in a flurry of anticipation. Birthdays - my own and others - had me almost frothing with magic and sparkle. While I was working in sales, I eschewed the cool and proper professional image, and instead did a little happy dance at my desk whenever I sealed even the most insignificant of deals. A favourite song plays on the radio at work? I start to dance in my seat and unabashedly sing out loud. When I bought a new comforter for my bed, I almost exploded with bliss and ecstasy!
You see what I'm saying? My capacity for excitement and high spirits was unreasonable in it's largesse. People would either shake their heads in amusement, or - if they were on the stuffy side - irritation. And now... now... I'm tempering my emotions. I find myself holding in an outburst of reaction so as not to appear unseemly.
I'm becoming dull.
Son of a bitch! What the hell is happening here? I'm becoming... OH GOD... I'm becoming DULL! And staid. Lifeless. And lacklustre.
I'm becoming... reasonable.
Disgusting, isn't it? I've said it before, and I'm going to say it again. I need a relatively short-term goal. Something exciting. I need a big and flashy something to look forward to. Something to take hold of my heart and fill it with joy and get me bubbling up with ten kinds of hope, a dash of joy, and a whole lot of excitement.
Jaysus. I sound like Gidget.
Right. Have a lovely day, everyone. Do a little happy dance, even if it's just for the fact that you didn't spill your lunch all over yourself.
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