Forgetting

OK I don't really like getting all depressing in my blogs, but this has been plaguing me for ages now, and I just must. And cos I'm too lazy to pick up a pen and write it in my journal.

Last year was a tough one for me. You didn't notice, because I don't advertise these things with a big flashing banner. If something in my life goes wrong, I deal with it myself and I move on. It's just the way I do things. I also know that it means nothing usually ever changes. My own fault I guess, for being such a quiet keep to myself kind of person. That and the fact that I detest people who whinge and whine and try to grab attention so constantly with tears and drama. It's just not my scene.

Anyways, my main problem right now is that I have a bit of a love hate relationship with something that used to be my biggest passion in the world. It's dancing of course. What else would it be? Everyone who knows me associates me with my undying love for this art.

But sometime last year my passion started dying. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was just a gradual thing, but all of a sudden it crept up on me and scared the shit out of me, because I never imagined the day when I wouldn't love dancing with everything I had anymore. It got to the point where I was dragging my weary pissed off body to dancing three nights a week and never wanting to be there. I was only going cos I'd paid for my term fees already and because my mother would've crawled all over me with over bearing worry and drama wondering why I wasn't going to class. Those nights I would drive home the long way and some nights I would sit in my car on the side of the road and bawl my eyes out because I hated the way dancing had begun to make me feel.

By the time the end of year concert came around I just wanted it to be over. I couldn't wait for it to be done and dusted with. Because then I could get away from it finally. I was just so over everything about it. I was sick of nobody at dancing giving me a chance or the time of day, and for being treated so unfairly, just because I wasn't some empty headed, primped, leggy, attitude fuelled dancer who had gorgeous hair, a great figure and went out every single Saturday night (like omg?! Spending Saturday night at home?! No way! What would I DO?). The politics at my studio are what get to me the most. The way you have to be a certain way or have a certain name or be friends with certain people to be given a chance.

I happen to love the little unique things I possess. I love the fact that I love reading and that I'm polite and that I'm friendly. That I work really hard at my two part time jobs and at uni and that I like to do volunteer work and help others. That on my bedroom walls are not pictures of Wentworth Miller or whoever, but pictures of gymnasts and actors - people I admire. I love the fact all over my bedroom walls are stuck up postcards from all over the world, photos of my closest friends and me and pictures of places I want to travel to someday.

But at dancing these valuable traits seem to mean nothing. It doesn't fit in with the clique. That's why I've spent practically every waking moment since I was 13 in the back row, where no one noticed me. Everything that I experience in the studio just makes me feel worse about myself. And I hate that.

So by the time concert rolled around last year I wanted so badly to get away from that. It used to be that I was just so grateful to even be there, to be given the opportunity to dance, to be given the opportunity to wear the costumes and the make up and perform on the great stages. I used to be able to forgive all the bad things because I was just so stoked to be there at all. Because everybody knows I'm not made for dancing. But now, now I don't know.

So I was like 'OK you will have two whole months to make a decision about returning. Dancing doesn't start again until February.' I thought I would be able to make a decision. But no length of time will probably ever be enough I suppose. I've muddled over it endlessly, I truly have.

But the thing is, is that during those two months of Christmas holidays also, I have just had such a good time doing everything that's NOT dancing. Being with my friends has never been so fun. I've been going to the beach and spending hours reading books. I've got to really know the people I work with, and I enjoy their company so much. I've seen a million movies and made some huge, exciting plans for my future and what I will do after uni. It has felt so good to not include dancing in everyday life for these two months.

Despite all this, I still went down to the studio on the day after Australia Day and enrolled myself back in classes. I only enrolled myself in one class though, a severe cut down from the 3 to 5 I did from 1999-2006. But that's the thing. I only enrolled myself in one class. And nobody even realised. Nobody asked me why I hadn't been at the holiday hip hop workshop the week before. Nobody remembered what year I was in at uni, that I worked at two cafes now and that I have my drivers license. Nobody notices. Why am I bothering? Honestly. If it was someone else, if it was one of those empty headed girls I mentioned earlier, this wouldn't be the case. It just goes to show that everything I hated about dancing last year is still there this year.

Like when my Dad had a heart attack in May. I went to dancing that night, while the ambulance rushed him off to hospital, and I nearly lost it in front of teacher telling her why I was late to ballet. The following night she asked me how Dad was. "I was going to text you this morning and ask, but..." she said. At the time I was just touched that she was even asking me, caring about something to do with me. But now, now I think, well, she didn't text me did she? She didn't at all. If it had been anyone else, she probably would've gone and visited their house personally.

And then today I went out with Ash and Janet to the Sunday Session. It has been a while since I've seen Janet, and whenever we do see each other it's a bit awkward, because we totally went from living in each others pockets throughout year 9 and year 10 to like seeing each other a couple of times a year at things like this. I only ever see her when I'm with Ash because she and Ash are still friends. We have completely different circles of friends. So...anyway, it was not like we couldn't talk, but her and Ash have plenty to gas bag about because they have a circle of friends they play netball with and all and see each other all the time. I obviously couldn't be part of the convo. And by 6pm there I was, sitting on this couch in between Christine and her boyfriend, Ash and her boyfriend and Janet, who is on a depressive skankish railroad of constant flirting after breaking up with her loser boyfriend on New Years Eve, and I didn't even want another alcoholic slushy! 30000 whiney texts to Bree later I had to piss, and dragged Ash to the toilets with me, only to come back to our couches and a few metres away was dance teacher, drinking with her friends. I was a bit shocked to see her, and then kind of grew more frustrated and annoyed the more I watched her. She didn't see me, and I wish I hadn't seen her. I had been doing so well forgetting about dancing. And then up she popped to remind me. It was especially gay because I have almost been dreading - well, not dreading, but just not too keen - about returning to dancing on Wednesday, and seeing teacher at the session today just reminded me.

This is turning into a major whinge fest, and I know I said I hate people that whinge and whine, and I know that's exactly what I have done this blog, but it feels good to have it off my chest. It still doesn't really do the whole mess justice, and it still doesn't really help me make a solid decision, but nevermind.

So, any words of advice anyone? Not that too many people read this blog, but I thought I'd throw the question out ther anyway. I know you'll all probably just be like 'Well if you hate it so much you should leave', but like I said, it's a love hate relationship. Very hard to explain.