The Update. September

We left in the middle of a great rain, puddles soaking into our shoes, our hair dripping wet by the time we’d even reached the car, not two blocks away. 8 pm turned into 9, which turned into rain and traffic, great long lines of red lights strung out across miles of the highway. We sat there for an hour, creeping and crawling in that slow mess. We didn’t get in until well past two thirty, and fell asleep immediately, cold and damp.
Being there was nice, it’s home sort of. Emily’s mom made us dinner, a heaping meal of spaghetti and salad. We sat there as she told us that we are a strange couple, finishing each others’ sentences, filling in details. We enjoy it, this domestication, the crafting of a little house, carving out a place of our own for the city.
The drive was nice, the report, bad. A bone is moving out of her foot, she may need another surgery. We’ll wait and see.
Saturday brought breakfast, a long drive, babysitting. Long hours, cranky child, he decided he would not go to bed, and so I sat with him and rocked him to sleep. It was oddly comforting. He finally fell asleep and all was well.
Then came the party, a night of mayhem to be sure. The boys, as well as the boys who live above them, were throwing simultaneous parties which meant double the fun. Dancing and music and laughter, it was nice. I saw a lot of people I hadn’t seen in a long time, and I met some fun new ones. I’m being social this year, and I think it’s working…
I’m absolutely terrified of ballet class. We were reprimanded for “disrespecting ballet” the other day because we didn’t remember a certain combination. Mind you, this is beginning ballet. We are also expected to do push-ups (the man kind), which is not something that I will ever be able to do and sit-ups as well. I get the idea behind it, but the action of it is intimidating. I stand in class, clad in a black leotard and pink tights, hair pulled into a small little pony tail at the back of my head. I go through the moves, staring straight ahead, pretending not to notice the teacher as she walks around the room, correcting people’s postures, their movements, critiquing them. I feel like an absolute failure, and she “won’t hesitate” to fail us.
Ah…this is not a happy thing. But I will get through it. But you know, even those in beginning ballet are supposedly athletes and we must be at attention the entire time. It’s a unique experience.
The prank war continues, as they answered our prank with one of their own. Revenge is certain.

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