How I Know I'm Not A Ballet Dancer

Because I cried. I remember the other girls never cried. They ignored it when their toe nails fell off and when the blisters popped. They ignored the stench in their pointe shoes from all of the pus and blood. I didn't ignore it. I remember when my company performed at Six Flags in Chicago. We practiced all summer, it was my first intense performance en pointe. We had practice every day, but Tama didn't think that was enough so in the five or so days before we practiced for over 20 hours, all en pointe. My toes were blistered and they hurt. I had one toenail that was only half grown in still from the summer before when I made my round with the Ballet of Chicago. I couldn't ignore the pain. When I stepped into relevé and felt that instant pressure, the layers of burlap like knives cutting into my blisters and cracking them open, I couldn't do it. When we finally did perform I cried the whole time I danced. Maybe I lacked that passion for it, maybe I was just too soft, but no one else cried. They were in the same pain I was but they danced through it and looked down on me because I couldn't. Ballet was the best and worst experience of my life, but that's for another blog. 

Finals procrastination does great things for my blog!