Breathe in. Breathe out. Tango.

"Because I have no answers to my questions, I tango. I tango because I have to move in the midst of these uncertainties. . . . " Tango and the Political Economy of Passion, Savigliano

There is something going on, but I don't know what. Everything makes me want to cry. Happy things, sad things, irrelevant things. Maybe it's hormones. Maybe it's lack of sleep. Maybe it's both. All I know is that I'm becoming increasingly self conscious - expending extra effort to keep the world at bay while I work this, whatever it is, out.

I find comfort in tango as usual
in dancing, in listening, in watching.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
se llama tango y nada más.

I come home from practicas and milongas tired - the good tired of exertion and excitement wearing off. Not the tired-to-my-bones sort of weary that I am throughout most of the day. I am tired. Maybe that's all that this is. Tired of lab tests that give me the whats but not the whys. Tired of battling insurance companies. Tired of writing and rewriting my job description as my organization decides how much we're all worth.

Tired of reading the news. Talking about the economy. Wondering about the future.

I change shoes to change my mind.
Feel the floor under my feet.
Just walking box steps.
Forward, pivot, side, pivot, back . . .
Feeling the air move.
Whispering sound of shoes.
The familiar faces.
and familiar hugs.
The music starts.
A warm hand.
A smile.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

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