Just Dance

Yesterday, at 5:57 AM, I awoke to the foreboding weight of responsibility settling onto my abdomen. Something about that seemed off, but what exactly felt wrong eluded me in my sleep-addled state. I pried my eyes open…

… And found my cat perched on my still form, kneading away. So, the same exact thing, really. “Why are you so high maintenance?” I asked Cat, disgruntled.

“My food bowl is empty. You had one job,” she responded, pressing her claws lightly against my stomach in warning. “And meow.”

Artistic license, people.

Anyway, I ignored her and closed my eyes because I had to be up in half an hour and no one in my life is important enough to be fed when I have half an hour left to sleep.

6:35 AM, my alarm rang. In the next 25 minutes, I rolled off the bed, snatched all my costumes for the day’s dance competition, misplaced some money, crawled into the car, flew into the dance studio for 7 AM roll call, and basically did everything else imaginable except for feeding the cat.

We deserve each other.

Anyway, I would fill you in on everything that transpired at competition, but I don’t think either of us wants that, so I’m summing it up in a neat schedule.

  1. 7-8 AM. So early I refuse to think about it.
  2. 9 AM. I see an old friend from middle school and spend the next fourteen hours trying to find her. There’s no service from my carrier at this school.
  3. 9:30 – 10:20 AM. I try to be productive. It doesn’t end well.
  4. 10:20-4:35 PM. This is the time from the first dance I’m in to the last dance I’m in. 2% of this time is spent actually performing, 2% is spent eating PDQ chicken strips, 6% is spent trying to figure out what kind of sauce I’ve been given, 8% is spent watching other dances (which is not actually the worst thing, as I see a Stormtrooper-themed dance), 33% is spent waiting in the halls before performances, and the other 51% is spent fervently wishing aliens would come blast a hole in the ceiling, beam me up to their ship, and put me under so I could just get some sleep. Or even just blast a hole in the ceiling, without all that other stuff, so at least I could get some cell phone service. Is this too much to ask?
  5. 5 – 7 PM. I watch all the amazing solos, from our team and from others, and remind myself to never dance again.
  6. 7 – 8 PM. I realize I have lost my dinner money. My friend—whose mom reads my blog! What??—kindly offers me a share of her snacks as she laughs at my incompetency. The team returns to the dressing rooms.
  7. 8 – 9 PM. We are delirious with exhaustion. Our team captain leans against the locker, juggling two tangerines. I begin to inform her that you can’t juggle with two and a tangerine hurtles past my right eye at 20 MPH. I slowly sit back down. One girl starts a game of tangerine volleyball, and we’re all tricked into believing it’s a good idea.
  8. 9:30 PM. Solo finals.
  9. 11 PM. Participation awards. This post last year about sums it up.
  10. 11:30 PM. WE WIN GRAND CHAMPION OF OUR CATEGORY (2nd overall team of the entire competition, cross category.) And the highest scoring routine of the competition, somehow. And $200, which I insist is retribution for my lost $15 from dinner. You’re all welcome for my sacrifice.

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