Still not feeling the greatest. My ankle… well, it got worse. Then it got better. But I’m still unconsciously babying it. I can’t help it. I injured myself so many times when I was younger, that I’m absolutely terrified that I’ll do it again. In many ways it feels like I’m back to square one. I can’t turn for anything on my right side (right side = turning on the left foot – my injured ankle) because I’m stupidly scared that I’m going to somehow hurt myself. I do a single turn and fall out of it. Gah.

Maybe it’s winter, or maybe it’s Nutcracker season, or maybe it’s the fact that this year is already coming to an end. Perhaps it’s my injured ankle, or perhaps it’s my pointe shoe frustrations, or perhaps it’s the fact that my former teacher moved all the way to the other side of the country without a word and I wasn’t able to take one last class from her before she left. It could be the looming audition season, or the fact that I’m not improving as much as I wish I were, or seeing all the amazing, sometimes younger, far better dancers who take class with me. But whatever the reason, I’m feeling discouraged.

When I was younger, my dancing years were plagues with injuries. Sprained ankles. Both of them. Multiple times. Back problems. Hip problems. Knee problems. Shin splints like crazy. A sprained wrist. And let’s not get into all the bruises I sustained from things such as bellyflopping on stage (yes, I did) and other general clumsiness. Yeah, I was a basket case.

Most of you know that I am a food blogger. I like food. I love to cook good food, and I love to eat good food. I like food.

Someday, I want to dance professionally. In the best ballet company that I can possibly get into. Which means, of course, that there will be a trade-off. Though I might be able to dance lead roles in smaller companies, I would far rather be in the corps de ballet, or be nothing more than an understudy, in a very, very good company. Some people would rather take the opportunity to dance lead roles. But I’ve realized lately that it frustrates the heck out of me to be the best ballet dancer in a group. As nice as it might feel to be the best, it makes me feel limited, because there’s nothing to strive for.

I don’t do well with cold. I mean, there’s a good reason why I’ll probably live in Southern California for most (if not all) of my life. My body does not like cold.

I love constructive criticism. Love it, love it. Regardless of where it’s coming from.

I took two classes in a row today. 1.5 hours of ballet, then 1.25 hours of jazz immediately after. It felt so good. I sweated buckets, and I was exhausted at the end of it, but I was on such a high after doing that. And I couldn’t stop thinking, “This is the life I want to live.” The life of dancing all day, every day. This is the life.

I love pointe shoes. I hate pointe shoes. *sigh*

After class today, I asked my teacher if he thought that I might have a chance at dancing professionally. His answer was… interesting. He said yes, but… in a way that implied I might be able to get into some crappy little company that no real professional dancer would ever dream of ever auditioning for, but that I’d never have a chance of actually making a career out of it. Ouch.