A Sore Point

Thursday, September 17, 1998

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, I did not stay after lindy hop class for the dance at the Russian Center. (I have left after class before, but only when I had someplace specific to do, like being on TV!) There were a few different factors that brought me to this decision. I had worked hard learning some new steps last night at dance class, and I was paying the price for trying to dance like Lovica by feeling some soreness in my right thigh. They'd just waxed the floor in the Russian Center, so my dance shoes were too slippy, and my regular shoes were gripping the floor too much. So I decided that if I intended to do any dancing this weekend, the better part of valour would be to not dance any more tonight.

But I did stick around for a while, long enough to walk down to the market on the corner and get a scoop of raspberry ice cream in a cup, and a can of vanilla-flavored creme soda. I took these back to the Russian Center and poured the soda over the ice cream, a kind of a mini-float. Delicious! So I chatted with folks for a while, then came home.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *    *

Journalers and their baths! In honor of my web-ring mate, I took a hot bath scented with geranium oil. It felt wonderful to lie there and soak!

*     *     *     *     *     *     *    *

When will I ever learn to stop being so absurdly sensitive? And I don't mean that in a way that calls attention to a flaw in oneself that one secretly thinks is a great virtue! I think I take things personally too often.

An online friend, A, has another online friend, B. I read the writing of both. I sent mail to B, commenting on what zie wrote, and talking about my friend A. I had no idea that this bugged B! But I guess it did, going by something that B recently posted.

Of course, I have no real evidence that I'm the person referred to! B is very good at that oblique style of writing, and I suppose there are probably others who are connected with both writers. But just reading B, and thinking, "Is that me zie is talking about?" gave me a sinking, queasy feeling. To think that one's email is unwelcome, made the receiver feel bad.... I sent mail to apologize, if my comments were indeed the troublesome ones. Will I continue to read B's stuff? I'll see how it makes me feel.

Maybe another night, if I weren't tired, if I weren't thinking about other personal stuff (I mentioned that having things up in the air is uncomfortable for me, didn't I?), it wouldn't have even occurred to me that I was the person meant. But tonight I feel saddened and regretful.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *    *

On a happier note, my friend Hyper Dan has archived a great discussion we had on the swing-seattle-chat list about leading, following and connection. Do a search on the page for Anita to find my contribution, but it's all good reading!