There is a hoedown going on in my head.
Do - si - do, y'all, swing your partner round and...?
I do not actually know how to dance much more than a hop, skip, and a jump. I've got the bob-my-head and the wiggle down. I've also a hip-sway-and-step that people tend to think is a product of being Bolivian but is really just moving around in as close a mimicry of generic Latin dancing as I can muster (apparently I am successful in this).
BUT, hey, is not dancing supposed to be an expression of the soul? And therefore is it not above reproach of elite rules and traditions, the secrets of which I have not yet cracked? [Although indeed subject to rules of appropriate conduct; I am not condoning indecency, people.]
My soul wishes to express an effervescent HOORAY at the moment, and is seeking suitable physical articulation. Fist pump, perhaps?
Three semesters ago I took a Jane Austen/country dance class. I developed line-and-direction-switching skills I never knew I possessed, as well as an immunity to public humiliation! Country dancing all of a sudden held unprecedented appeal! These skills have left me since, alas, left me with my wildest dreams of barnstomping still unrealized and whirling 'round in my imagination.
And right now I am SO ITCHING for a whirl.
This is because I have spent most of today fending off a funk (does it not sound terrible? THE FUNK.) Anyway, much effort was spent fending off this Funk, and by sundown, I was spent. And lo and behold, THE FUNK WON. Everywhere, distraught debating of My Life Path and extreme inner existential and theological monologues!
But after much listening to chipper banjos and reading of spiritual materials (Oh how I enjoy thee, Ecclesiastes), I have routed Mr. Funk and he is nowhere to be seen. I am oh so brimming with that enthusiasm for living which bubbles over at 3 A.M. because it is too much for the light of day to handle (apparently). Or for me to handle during the light of day (likely).
FOR INSTANCE: Did you ever concieve such a world? I mean, the colors! the sounds! they are so bright and sound-ly! Isn't music the best thing around? Isn't singing fun? Are not words and books and ideas such lovely things to hold and play with? Did ever a language sound so pretty as English? And with what a history (but one I will not here bore you with)! Really, did ever anything sound as nice as any language, ever? And do not even get me started on the people! They are so different! They are so many! And my goodness, are they ever interesting.
Listening to Mumford & Sons almost nonstop contributes to my mental dance party. I am the happy happy possessor of one Sigh No More, already duplicated for the car. It was one of my lovely gifts for my twentieth birthday, the story of which will go into the For Later bin for now. Now we are talking banjos and guitars and all manner of stringed instruments. Also, songs that quote Shakespeare and Steinbeck. That's Shakespeare and Steinbeck, folks. Sigh No More, did you catch that? I do love harmonic rollicking, and banjos are so very hard to not dance to, let me tell you!
Plus, I have striped socks on! My feet are ready to party!
I think I have used up my exclamation points for a week.
So you get the idea, I think, despite my brain being in 4 A.M. fog (how do I take so long to write these things?!).
For hilarity and dancing:
[warning: f-bomb @ :30]
Where is my heart, girl, where is my heart?
Did you throw it in a blender or throw it beneath the car?
(and also, how 'bout my ears?)
For plain dancing:
