Blogs Are Stupid

Doesn't anyone believe in Dear Diary anymore? What happened to the joy of putting actual pen to paper? And why does every ordinary Jane and John think they can write well enough to burden the world with their scribblings? It’s a mystery that badly needs solving. My first entry contains my thoughts about blogging and will set your expectations. The rest will probably be stream of consciousness garbage, much like you’ll find on any other blog. Perhaps we will both come away enlightened.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

We Used To Dance

I met my husband at a Country Western Dance Bar.

I know. And yes, it was every bit as cheesy as it sounds. Too much big hair and haggard hopefulness. Too much smoke. Too many belt buckles and beer bellies on too many erstwhile cowboys.

But I didn't care. I just wanted a place to drown my sorrows after a humiliating breakup. I needed to slip beneath the throbbing baseline and the brittle murmur of desperately genteel mating to quiet the voice in my head.

In the din, I could scarcely hear my own guilty admonishment.

It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.

It wasn't my fault. I know that know. But then? I couldn't wrap my mind around any other explanation. I wasn't pretty enough, sexy enough, adventurous enough. Whatever enough I needed to be, I wasn't.

The really sinister thing about infidelity is not betrayal. It's the erosion of self-esteem. The annihilation of self-confidence. The shattered belief that one is worthy of love and devotion.

It's a wound that cuts deeply and heals slowly.

After weeks of wallowing, my friends appeared at my rumpled and distinctly aromatic bedside and demanded that I get up.

"Don't let that bastard win!" said one.

"You're way too idealistic to die of a broken heart"
said another.

"Fuck him" said the third.

They dragged me bodily from the nest I had made for myself, forced me to shower and then carted me off to a little hole in the wall honky tonk. At first, I simply sat... smoking moodily and glaring malevolently at any man who dared make eye contact.

I created a new persona for myself. Man hating bitch. Yes. That suited me just fine.

But after a while, I began to loosen up. After overhearing many a drunken confession and a sobbed story, I realized that a lot of these people had problems worse than mine.

And yet...they danced.

Country dancing isn't like rock and roll dancing, which is really just a random assortment of flailing limbs and pantomimed sexuality.

Country dancing is fun. There are actual steps. Moves. Dips, twirls. You have to count to yourself.

slow, slow, QUICK quick slooow, slow, slow QUICK quick slooow

I saw the appeal. A person can lose themselves in the mindless exhiliration of dipping and twirling and stepping. They can let go of their troubles and imagine that the person in their arms is their knight in shining armour, the one who will take them away from it all, the one who will complete them. Even if really, they know it isn't so.

So I danced. We all did.

When I met husband, I wasn't very nice to him, but eventually he won me over. He could dance, you see, so I accepted his invitation to imagine.

Ahhhhh, the dancing.

We were good. We had a natural rythym together. His body seemed to know mine, and mine seemed to fit his. So we Two-Stepped and we Swung and we Cotton Eye Joe'd and we hustled our Achy Breaky butts until the wee hours every weekend.

And when we left the dance floor with aching thighs, we were tired, but not too tired. We were never too tired back then.

No matter the hour, we always had the energy for one more dance; one of age old intimacy that had moves but no steps, music but no notes, lyrics but no words. And when were through, our exhaustion was good and pure and satisfying.

But we don't dance anymore.

We have jobs, children, a home, responsibilities.

We are often too tired.

One evening not long ago, we sat, each in our own chair, lethargic and empty. We stared at the big screen watching beautiful people dance. Their graceful bodies spoke to one another; the movement telegraphed as they touched. They gazed at one another hungrily, they caressed one another tenderly. They trusted. They believed.

Something stirred in both of us then. Husband looked at me with a wistful expression.

"We used to dance." he said.

I smiled.

"We sure did." I replied.

That night we discovered that the music had not stopped playing. It was simply muffled by the heavy mantle of our shared responsibility. We learned that sometimes, you have to fold it up and put it away for a little while.

Sometimes, you have to dance.


  • At 6:37 PM, Blogger NatzG said…

    That is such a sweet post! Not only for its sentiment, but also for your most eloquent words. Beautiful.

  • At 7:32 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    This is what I was trying to say in my post today. You said it better.

  • At 8:04 PM, Blogger Middle Girl said…

    Have mercy!

  • At 9:14 PM, Blogger thailandchani said…

    What a lovely post! Thank you! I truly enjoyed reading this.


  • At 9:25 PM, Blogger Angela said…

    I hope you danced again

  • At 10:16 PM, Blogger Pgoodness said…

    sometimes, you have to fold it up and put it away for a little while.


  • At 9:42 AM, Blogger crazymumma said…

    Oh honey. Scuse me calling you honey.

    I love that he was a bit wistful. We used to dance as well. And I remeber my mother telling me that she used to dance with my father.

    This is a truly lovely post. And, I have always wanted to learn how to line dance.

  • At 12:59 PM, Blogger SUEB0B said…

    Aw, made me get a little teary there.

  • At 2:26 PM, Blogger Sarahviz said…

    "The really sinister thing about infidelity is not betrayal. It's the erosion of self-esteem. The annihilation of self-confidence. The shattered belief that one is worthy of love and devotion."

    This resonated with me. I hated feeling that way, back in 1998.

    Here's to finding the right dance partner!

  • At 5:59 PM, Blogger Kimberly said…

    Excellent post.

    Also helpful to know that other couples sit lethargically in their own chairs staring at the television.


  • At 10:25 PM, Blogger said…

    Gorgeous post!

    And this:

    "When I met husband, I wasn't very nice to him, but eventually he won me over."

    Now that sounds familiar, lol. My husband doesn't dance. But we used to run around the city all night like crazy people. I'd love to do that again sometime.

  • At 9:41 AM, Blogger Shelley said…

    That was really beautiful. We (husband and I) have never danced. Well, once, at our wedding, and even that was something he had to turn into a farce. Makes you wonder.

  • At 12:01 PM, Blogger Major Bedhead said…

    I love a post that makes me all gooey from hopeful happiness, when my mouth does that little moue and my eyes get all crinkly and watery. This was lovely.


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