The wages of…dance lessons?

it is 10:25pm on a Tuesday, ‘way past my bedtime. But last night fell off the rails –no clue what THAT was about–so I’m shooting for the letter of the dare tonight and no excuses. 

I am not a fan of the stream of consciousness, but that’s all I have tonight. I wish I’d tackled this earlier in the day so I could have real thoughts in here. Realistically speaking, however, to do that I would have had to have foreseen this moment at 8 a.m. Oh, wait, I was still eating breakfast at that point.

It’s been a satisfactory day of Good Things. Art-Day + kaffeeklatsch. Submitted work to a contest–my streak remains unbroken! Made sure the kitchen was tidied; pulled my library shift; took our last dance lesson of this class. And My Sweetie, upon my request, EVEN THOUGH this was a ‘school night,’ took me dancing at the Broken Spoke. “Y’know, the lab is always different than the field.” Oh, quite. 

But still, we danced at our lesson for a solid hour+15, then got a bite and wove our newbie way through a dance-floor jam that reminded me of IH35 downtown at 4:00 p.m. (I assume that Friday night at the Spoke would be the equivalent of 6 p.m. rush hour…and me still with my training wheels on -!)

And now My Sweetie is tackling work even though 11 p.m. is coming soon. Because the work is the work.

He’s one heckuva sweetie.

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