Bellydance Performance
Friday, October 23rd, 2009
I bellydanced in a Greek restaurant last night. It was student night at Dino’s, and I was one of three invited by Layla to perform. I wore the blue $300 costume that my mother-in-law bought for me, and I used the veil that I had cut out and beaded the edges of myself. I wasn’t sure I would make it through two songs, as I’m still recovering from a week’s worth of recovering (ie. lying around in pain, sleeping, and watching TV). But adrenalin is the best performance-enhancing drug ever. I was planning on using my second song as my departure music, but I ended up dancing to almost the whole thing: Dick Dale’s 2-minute Miserlou, aka the opening song from Pulp Fiction (minus the F-word dialog at the beginning).
I forgot to take off my glasses before I danced. I guess it’s against my nature to go around blind when I have the option of seeing where I’m going and who I’m looking at. Despite the spectacles, I was still described as “hot” by one of my fellow dancers. And really, in that costume, I could have just walked around gracefully without any pretense of bellydancing (well, maybe just the pretense of it), and people would have been impressed. It’s pretty and sparkly. And I don’t even need to fill it out in the chest, since the beading makes for a stiff and solid (though modest) cup form that holds its own shape. Works for me!
This morning my shoulders/back/neck are stiff, and the left side of my mouth is throbbing. But it’s good to have been a part of something group-oriented and public. And to be able to come home and be private again.
Body balance: a potential metaphor
Monday, October 19th, 2009
It’s a little embarrassing to admit that my tongue is currently inhabited by critters, but it’s true. I have thrush. It’s a self-diagnosis, but one I’m pretty sure about, though not comfortable with. According to the wholistic home remedy books I own, thrush happens when a body is out of balance and/or the immune system is compromised. What threw me out of balance was the ripping out of three of my wisdom teeth (only the one with the unreachable cavity remains in my mouth) and the ensuing consumption of pain meds and milk shakes. It took about 5 days before I could eat anything more solid than applesauce. And now I have a yellowish white yeast carpet on the back of my tongue. I want it removed, but the heal-thyself books, which I do appreciate, focus on the get-back-in-balance method, rather than the get-this-goldarn-living-throwrug-out-of-my-mouth approach. So unless my oral surgeon returns my call and prescribes an anti-yeast mouth rinse or pill or something, I guess I’m stuck with having to make healthful (and soft) food choices and hope that with time it adds up to a healthier body.
I know there’s a metaphor in there somewhere. But I’m too tired to think about it right now.