Dancing Days Are Here Again

It's funny how, prior to my vacation, if I saw one more invite to a show or a birthday party or any sort of event pop up, I was ready to say "Fuck this noise!" and bail on the invitation.

Now that I'm back, I am not doing anything. Seriously, nothing.

I need to be doing things but the idea of doing them makes me...cringe? Vomit? Cry? All of the above. It's not that I don't like people's birthdays or shows or any of that other joyful stuff that takes place when you're friends with people and you like to support them, it's just that...guys, I think I'm old.

I know it didn't happen overnight, but it most certainly feels as if it did. I can convince myself on any good day that I am going to get the following done:

*go for a run
*feed the cat
*healthy breakfast at home
*get ready for work (and look smashing, by the way)
*go to work from 9am until 5pm and, there, I will do brilliant things
*have dinner with a friend or catch a show or both
*come home and start some laundry
*write for at least two hours
*chill out with a good book and a glass of wine
*in bed by 12
*awake with the energy to do it all over again tomorrow

Do you know how many of those things actually take place on a daily basis? 4.5...because I'm rarely brilliant at work.

I convinced myself that I would have the summer to work on all of the home projects I neglected while I was prepping for fringe, rehearsing and performing, and moving, and piecing together more travel itineraries than I care to count. This summer, I have failed.

However, what I now lack in all of those new home projects, I've made up for with exhaustion, drunken nights with the boy, writing meetings, and good times.

But, boy, am I tired. You see, I can't even remember when I started writing this in the first place. Why is it called Dancing Days Are Here Again? I mean, other than the whole Led Zeppelin being awesome thing, why?

Basically what I'm trying to say is it is Sunday afternoon. 3pm, to be exact. I've been in bed this whole time. Literally all day. Since last night at about midnight. And a part of me feels extremely guilty. Another part of me says, "Fuck off, guilt" and pours another bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios- a new love in my life.


**Six and a half hours after posting this I realize that the reason I titled this 'Dancing Days...' is because my dance card is full I guess. Basically, I'm an unintentional genius.