Welcome To My Bed

What I think about when there is somewhere else I'd rather be.

I am not good at sleeping in other people's beds. I must keep reminded myself of this. I toss and turn and wake them up thousands of times through the night with my restlessness. I am very, very bad at keeping still when someone else may or may not be watching. I've never been able to figure out why this is. Let's blame it on dance. Let's say it's because I was a dancer for more than half my life and they always said things like, "Don't lock back on your knees!" and "Support from below your ribs!" and "Keep your face breathing even when your body is still!" A ballet studio's jibberish. I have been thinking a lot about how the not-sleep from my ballet days and the not-sleep from my now are very similar. Granted there are the obvious things that set one time apart from another--I am eating now, I am healthy and happy and taking good care of my body; the only exercise I have anymore is the three flights of stairs to my apartment; but the insomnia still strikes and my head goes eight billion miles an hour asking questions of me in a very loud ballet teacher voice. I keep thinking, "You're so talented at these things; sleep or dance, it makes no difference. Just apply yourself, silly girl. You'll get there." I catch sight of myself in a mirror and it feels just like five days of class a week again and I am too fat for music and flat-footed with poor extension and less flexibility than I will admit to. I close my eyes and my head is talking to me again and I will never, ever get to sleep. I want to believe I won't always be manic about the things that make me happy. Some days I just want to abandon myself and start from scratch. First position. Relax your back, hold your arms like this. Good. Breathe. Now, second.