Pandora's Box
2001-12-03 01:08:00 (UTC)

Hate on Dance


5:04 p.m.

So Mom's not supportive. If I hear one more person say anything
about my minoring in dance, I swear I'll scream. I've had it. I'm
just going to tell people that I'm minoring in business and I'll
minor in business and dance. They can all kiss my ass. I'm so sick
of everyone thinking they know everything. I was just thinking about
it, but all this crap is making me more determined to do it just
because of the way they're responding to it. God, I know what I'm
doing; I wish they'd at least think about what they say before they
say it. I don't go around judging them. I'm just going to stop
talking to people. And I'm going to stop eating. Control THAT. Here
I thought it was my life I was living; apparently it's not. I'm
tired of everyone's opinions. I'm probably going to make more money
my first year out of law school than both of my parents combined
right now. I work harder than they did, I'm smarter than they were
and I have more drive and focus, but nevermind that. Can I just be
happy for a fuckin' minute before all my aspirations get shot down?
Shit. But whatever. If I like this class then I'll keep taking
classes and if I minor in dance I just won't tell them and they can
be surprised at graduation when I get my scholarship. And everyone
can kiss my ass.


12:35 p.m.
I'm prepared to start a high protein/low carb diet and lift
weights. I looked through a dance catalog and all the large sizes
for my height range 140-165. I know the committment I'll have to
make to this if I'm serious, even if it is just a minor. But I
really feel like this will be good for me. Few understand. I
remember how much I loved dance; I danced everywhere all the time in
grade school. I taught all my friends all of my moves. And I need
this. My father got to be a star athlete in college. My mother got
to be beautiful. She majored in vocal music. My father was able to
actualize himself through his body, my mother through music. Neither
of them know what it's like to wake up every day and hate the
mirrored reflection as it washes its face. They don't know what it's
like to be the greatest package no one bothers to unwrap because the
paper isn't the prettiest. I could accept it if I felt I were truly
destined to live this, but I just don't believe that this is what's
in store for me. I deserve more than this. I should have more than
this. This body feels foreign to me. Like it isn't mine; I've
distorted it. I've betrayed it. I owe my body the grace and beauty
it deserves. This is my way of making my peace. This will be my joy.