I Could've Danced All Night...

Actually, I almost did.

Last week was one of the most emotionally intense and stressful weeks I've had in a long time. I came thisclose to having a complete and utter breakdown.

Then, on Friday, everything turned around. Just as I was at an emotional low, my supporters came out of the woodwork and made me feel that I was far from alone, that I was understood and that there were people I hadn't expected who care about me and will stand with me when shit goes down. It was amazing. A few hours later, I got the phone call I'd been waiting for and dreading, and got the unbelievable news that the source of all of my trouble had...gone away in the 11th hour. And then I made a call I'd been dreading, and got the answer I'd wanted so badly to a question I'd been afraid to ask. I can't remember the last time I've felt such relief.

And last night, I danced: cut loose on the dance floor in a stuffy basement bar with tacky floral carpet and a cat. Threw tired arms and anxious hips and neck and head and chest and every single part of me into the flow. And I danced until I could barely move from the ache; until I could barely breathe. I lost myself in the music sometimes, and threw myself into the crowd of other dancers at others. And I danced until I felt it was time to stop--that I'd danced and sweated and worked the poison of the past week out of my system--and strode off into the cold night, floating on the amazing high that comes from dancing until there's almost nothing left.

I feel alive again.