The days are filling so that when I turn around three times and curl up in bed on Sunday night, I barely believe that Sunday morning was within the same time frame. So that when I filled out my first time sheet for my social media job this afternoon, I was surprised at how few days I had to account for.
I got back from Zumba with my mom and two pizzas about an hour ago, and neither one of us could get over how good we felt. We had both been feeling so tense, from the half-hour-plus of driving and 7 hours of staring at a computer screen that I do every day, and whatever Mutti does that has the same general effect. And walking out of there, we both felt so light and loose. I love Zumba, the hilarious parts, the really fast parts that make me wonder if I'm going to be able to keep going, the aggressive parts that remind me to deal with my frustration ("never go to bed angry"), and the slow, deep plunges and stretches that remind me to breathe.
It was somewhat less comfortable for my mom, who doesn't really ever dance -- it was a feat to get her and Papa out for the electric slide at my quinceañera 7 years ago. She said she struggled with the coordination, the quick switching between salsa and cumbia steps, and the really hippy stuff -- not free-love-hippy stuff, but cadena-hippy stuff.
It occurred to me that Zumba is good for more than just women's bodies (because, yes, it appears to be mostly women who do Zumba). As Mutti mentioned, we don't do those kinds of things very often: we don't move that way, we don't laugh that way... We don't ever feel that way. I think it's great for body image because I'd put money on most of those women being super shy. We hardly look at each other when we all walk in and carve out a space for ourselves, and pretend like we know what we're doing when it takes almost everyone a few seconds, at least, to figure out when a new step starts. By the end, we're giggling, we're tired, our guards are down and we're feeling good, and I catch the eyes of the two women next to me. They both came alone and they both smile shyly when our eyes meet, and we are laughing, and suddenly we have reason to suspect that none of us are comfortable throughout the majority of our daily lives. We all feel equally stupid doing those moves, and equally exhilarated, and we all chose to come there and we are all beautiful and strong and we all want to care for our beautiful strong selves.
We almost didn't go, because of course I came home from work and asked every member of the family to go to Zumba with me at 7:30, and everyone was busy or tired or something else... And then I decided to use my time productively and start sanding the tacky blue paint off this big cedar chest I bought yesterday. So before I go at it with the belt sander, my dad warns me that the machine has a mind of its own and if I don't control it then it'll just fly straight off the end of the trunk.
No kidding. It took my whole neglected core to keep it on the wood at all, and I barely managed to make it go where I needed it even by the end. Not to mention the paint melts in stripes onto the sandpaper, smells like poison, and makes the sander almost completely ineffective. After an hour I was sweating and sore and covered in paint dust, smelling vaguely like burnt rubber, and ready to go to the Y...?
I'm working backwards here. Yesterday, along with the big cornflower blue cedar chest with bird decals on it, I picked up a U.S. Navy Captain's sea trunk and a giant squishy green chair/loveseat at the Family Thrift Store right up the street. The sea trunk still has oil paper inside, and it smells like salt and cedar and oil paper, and ships. It's a little rough around the edges, but it charmed me right off the bat. The chair -- well, that was love at first sight. It reminds me of rainy days, and mugs of tea that are far bigger than you could possibly need, but it just makes you feel more cozy because you won't have to get up for hours... This chair matches. Also it is a beautiful color, and it lives up to the Greco Living Room Couch standard, which means you sink into it no matter what angle you come at it from.
So, it is my first furniture, for the basement apartment I was promised. It's haphazard for now, with unfinished drywall and cement spackling on two walls, a curtain for the third wall, and brown paper ceiling -- but it's comfortable and eclectic and highly appealing.
Plus, my loveseat could not look better down there.
I got back from Zumba with my mom and two pizzas about an hour ago, and neither one of us could get over how good we felt. We had both been feeling so tense, from the half-hour-plus of driving and 7 hours of staring at a computer screen that I do every day, and whatever Mutti does that has the same general effect. And walking out of there, we both felt so light and loose. I love Zumba, the hilarious parts, the really fast parts that make me wonder if I'm going to be able to keep going, the aggressive parts that remind me to deal with my frustration ("never go to bed angry"), and the slow, deep plunges and stretches that remind me to breathe.
It was somewhat less comfortable for my mom, who doesn't really ever dance -- it was a feat to get her and Papa out for the electric slide at my quinceañera 7 years ago. She said she struggled with the coordination, the quick switching between salsa and cumbia steps, and the really hippy stuff -- not free-love-hippy stuff, but cadena-hippy stuff.
It occurred to me that Zumba is good for more than just women's bodies (because, yes, it appears to be mostly women who do Zumba). As Mutti mentioned, we don't do those kinds of things very often: we don't move that way, we don't laugh that way... We don't ever feel that way. I think it's great for body image because I'd put money on most of those women being super shy. We hardly look at each other when we all walk in and carve out a space for ourselves, and pretend like we know what we're doing when it takes almost everyone a few seconds, at least, to figure out when a new step starts. By the end, we're giggling, we're tired, our guards are down and we're feeling good, and I catch the eyes of the two women next to me. They both came alone and they both smile shyly when our eyes meet, and we are laughing, and suddenly we have reason to suspect that none of us are comfortable throughout the majority of our daily lives. We all feel equally stupid doing those moves, and equally exhilarated, and we all chose to come there and we are all beautiful and strong and we all want to care for our beautiful strong selves.
We almost didn't go, because of course I came home from work and asked every member of the family to go to Zumba with me at 7:30, and everyone was busy or tired or something else... And then I decided to use my time productively and start sanding the tacky blue paint off this big cedar chest I bought yesterday. So before I go at it with the belt sander, my dad warns me that the machine has a mind of its own and if I don't control it then it'll just fly straight off the end of the trunk.
No kidding. It took my whole neglected core to keep it on the wood at all, and I barely managed to make it go where I needed it even by the end. Not to mention the paint melts in stripes onto the sandpaper, smells like poison, and makes the sander almost completely ineffective. After an hour I was sweating and sore and covered in paint dust, smelling vaguely like burnt rubber, and ready to go to the Y...?
I'm working backwards here. Yesterday, along with the big cornflower blue cedar chest with bird decals on it, I picked up a U.S. Navy Captain's sea trunk and a giant squishy green chair/loveseat at the Family Thrift Store right up the street. The sea trunk still has oil paper inside, and it smells like salt and cedar and oil paper, and ships. It's a little rough around the edges, but it charmed me right off the bat. The chair -- well, that was love at first sight. It reminds me of rainy days, and mugs of tea that are far bigger than you could possibly need, but it just makes you feel more cozy because you won't have to get up for hours... This chair matches. Also it is a beautiful color, and it lives up to the Greco Living Room Couch standard, which means you sink into it no matter what angle you come at it from.
So, it is my first furniture, for the basement apartment I was promised. It's haphazard for now, with unfinished drywall and cement spackling on two walls, a curtain for the third wall, and brown paper ceiling -- but it's comfortable and eclectic and highly appealing.
Plus, my loveseat could not look better down there.
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