Queen of Wishful Thinking

At my first school dance in the 6th grade, a horribly mean girl approached me with a quarter in-hand. She held it straight to my face and uttered ever-so snarkily, "Here. Take this. I'm PAYING you to stop dancing." 

Today I find myself recalling that moment, thinking... Oh, honey. Jokes on you. I've never STOPPED! But thanks for the payphone call for my ride home. 😉 

Read between the lines, quarter girl

In fact lately, I've REALLY been embracing my moves AND my magnificent "weirdness". So much so, I'm now fully in awe of all the "wrong side of the wall" kids from high school [Westerville North grads, you know what I'm talking about...]. They were, perhaps unknowingly, embracing their weird and wonderful uniqueness. Enough to be OUTCAST! What a COMPLIMENT! Like I've always said, being "normal" is a fate worse than death. Those kids were ahead of their time. #praise 

But it's sad, really. Ever notice how incredibly rare it is to see someone full-bellied belting out a showtune in their car? Or bobbing their head to the beat with the bass up high at a stoplight [over the age of roughly 17]? It really bums me out. Not because I do, but because I know more people wish they could. 

For me right now, dancing and music are the best therapy [sorry, chemo, you can't take ALL the credit]. I've refused to give into my blues. Believe me, I could lose sleep for MORE than a few reasons. Or cry for even more. But instead, I'm dancing. A LOT. 

My buzzcut is now half gone [receding hairliners, your struggle is REAL]. Some [hopefully reversible] neuropathy has set in on my right ankle and foot. And every day I've been feeling little tingles near my tumor site [shrinking or growing pains?? who knows]. Thus, have you any idea how easy it would be for me to spend my days curled up in bed sulking?!? To that I renounce it with a big ol' Oh, hell naw.

I've been searching for every motivational song I can get my hands on, dusting off more dance moves than an aging John Travolta, and singing any and everywhere like I was auditioning for Cancer's Got Talent. When lyrics hit me just right, I just write. When the beat hits me, I hit the dance floor [or anything resembling a hard surface]. And it's bringing me more joy than that distraught pre-teen could have ever felt in attempting to hurt my feelings.

So today I hope to inspire you to find a song that spurs the way you wish to feel. That you dance, feel the beat, turn up the bass, and give all the quarter girls out there a run for their money.

[If I don't listen to the talk of the town, then maybe I can fool myself]