Jitters
Oktoberfest starts tonight.
Before I break down and rant, I want to make it clear that I am very, very excited about tonight, I can't wait for it to be here, because I simply love performing. It's in my blood, under my skin . . . I rolled in it like a naughty dog.
But right now, like always, it's nothing but jitters, and will be until I get up on that stage and hit that first beat. Then it's all rattlesnake hips and voodoo magic, baby.
My house is a mess, my snakes have not been fed/watered/changed all week, I haven't had ten minutes to myself to even call friends (which I am dying to do), or even read unless I'm in the bathroom, and I am not kidding when I say that the past few days have been some of the worst and most stressful in my life (dance matters aside -- this is family/relationship stuff).
My hands are shaking I'm so nervous, and it's only nine in the morning.
So many things could go wrong. Beyond me screwing the dance up, which doesn't worry me that much, really, I could have a costume malfunction (thankfully these are usually more humorous than dire), I could forget something vital, like zills or my shoes (I sure hope not), I could be late (a very real possibility), I could throw up (not likely, but stranger things have happened), etc. The costume, which I tried out last night, is heavy and hot. So I am also afraid that I'll collapse of heat exhaustion in the middle of a 2-hour show.
So long as I collapse after my solo, I'm good, I suppose.
Oh, and I only finished one skirt, in metallic blue. It still looks awesome, but . . . well . . . I'd hoped for two. Maybe for tomorrow's show.
Not to mention the added stress of me wigging out because for these two days I have to abandon my usual exercise routine. I mean, part of my brain knows I'm going to be dancing hard tonight, and that will make up for whatever I don't burn doing my weights, but the part of me that is obsessively routine-driven (the part that made me able to lose this weight in the first place) is freaking out over the skipped days. I need to bitchslap it and make it quit barking.
It's all too much, really.
SO.
Considering I am [this close] to having a panic attack, and will likely return home stressed and tired, I call upon you, my Legion Of Doom.
To soothe my restless spirit I need pictures of hot guys. Or girls. So . . . post a pic of your favorite hottie in the comments, and I will be forever grateful.
Now I am off to sew a piece of cobra skin into my costume to remind myself that I have done much scarier things than dance in front of drunken rednecks.
Snake-wrangling: the best cure for stage fright ever.
link
Before I break down and rant, I want to make it clear that I am very, very excited about tonight, I can't wait for it to be here, because I simply love performing. It's in my blood, under my skin . . . I rolled in it like a naughty dog.
But right now, like always, it's nothing but jitters, and will be until I get up on that stage and hit that first beat. Then it's all rattlesnake hips and voodoo magic, baby.
My house is a mess, my snakes have not been fed/watered/changed all week, I haven't had ten minutes to myself to even call friends (which I am dying to do), or even read unless I'm in the bathroom, and I am not kidding when I say that the past few days have been some of the worst and most stressful in my life (dance matters aside -- this is family/relationship stuff).
My hands are shaking I'm so nervous, and it's only nine in the morning.
So many things could go wrong. Beyond me screwing the dance up, which doesn't worry me that much, really, I could have a costume malfunction (thankfully these are usually more humorous than dire), I could forget something vital, like zills or my shoes (I sure hope not), I could be late (a very real possibility), I could throw up (not likely, but stranger things have happened), etc. The costume, which I tried out last night, is heavy and hot. So I am also afraid that I'll collapse of heat exhaustion in the middle of a 2-hour show.
So long as I collapse after my solo, I'm good, I suppose.
Oh, and I only finished one skirt, in metallic blue. It still looks awesome, but . . . well . . . I'd hoped for two. Maybe for tomorrow's show.
Not to mention the added stress of me wigging out because for these two days I have to abandon my usual exercise routine. I mean, part of my brain knows I'm going to be dancing hard tonight, and that will make up for whatever I don't burn doing my weights, but the part of me that is obsessively routine-driven (the part that made me able to lose this weight in the first place) is freaking out over the skipped days. I need to bitchslap it and make it quit barking.
It's all too much, really.
SO.
Considering I am [this close] to having a panic attack, and will likely return home stressed and tired, I call upon you, my Legion Of Doom.
To soothe my restless spirit I need pictures of hot guys. Or girls. So . . . post a pic of your favorite hottie in the comments, and I will be forever grateful.
Now I am off to sew a piece of cobra skin into my costume to remind myself that I have done much scarier things than dance in front of drunken rednecks.
Snake-wrangling: the best cure for stage fright ever.
link