Pre Performance Jitters

Big new works. Repeat of big works from last year.

Nerves.

Unbelievable emo day -- of the Grey's Anatomy kind. Of the wanting, but not having wild uncontrolled sex (Wizard is at work; don't want to get injured). Of the everything is a signal, a sign. Dance wheels on the street is it good or bad luck? Inflate the tyres? What if I overinflate and they go bang. Can't not inflate because everything won't be perfect. I need to be perfect. My body needs to be perfect. I refuse to indulge in the usual pre-performance rituals, but I also have to. It's not that shaving, eyebrow plucking, hair conditioning, makeup brush cleaning add anything to the actual dance, it's that they add to the readiness: the humbling and opening of self before the ineffable of performance.

Will I be there? Will I get it right? Will I execute? Will I be able to live in the full potential of every dance moment? Will I feel the pulse of every movement and live through every breath? hell, will I actually remember to breathe? Will my chair be OK? Last year, the footplate slipped out of the leg tube that holds it -- right in the middle of a piece. We were banging it in with a mallet in the wings. I was just losing it.

Last night, my pants split at the crotch -- OK. Dress rehearsal. But what if it happens again? What if at the moment when he lifts and splits my leg, the light catches a gaping hole (part of me is terrified and part of me just wants to laugh). Last night, I fell. I whipped around too fast, felt the wheel rise; I balanced for a second or two with my body and arms extended parallel to the ground, the wheel rising and, well, then I didn't balance any more.

Last night gives me hope for today. Nerves. Excitement. Passion. Raw. Vulnerable performance.