2 left feet is what I have when it comes to dancing. Add to it a pair of frigid arms and an almost unrelentingly frozen waist and you have the making of your very own terminator or maybe not even that for a terminator might have done that robot dance. If I was some greek mythological hero then dancing for sure would have been my achilles heel. How did that great greek legend die, people would have asked about me and the answer would have been, oh they just put on black eyed peas and he happen to swing a leg or two. Not that it’s rocket-science-hard, put a step ahead another one back, an arm up and one down and do what with your waist what u do with a hollahoop around it and now do it repetitively, sequentially and there you are and this is were lies my death. The repetitiveness, sequence, doing it over and over again. I can manage it once but over and over again? You seriously got to be kidding me. And that’s why a minute or so on the dance floor and I end up looking like an idiot, not that it matters for the fatter that oprah winfrey girl dancing next to me is looking like a giant fool herself but then you just can’t help but adore people who are capable of doing what you yourself are incapable of. Adore or detest but anyways I just respect, sheer and unadulterated, people who can dance and sing and may be talk incessantly about anything and may be make other’s laugh as well. Not that I am not funny or I am a sadistic philistine who just can’t enjoy the nuances of life, it’s just when it comes to public exposure I just find my inards behaving like a about to be consummated bride, palpitating and blushing with shame. sometimes though I have managed to sing a few verses and most of the time I managed to sound like a demon excorcising godliness out of people.
So now I let my ipod be the only connection between me and the rhythm divine for any attempts on my part to strengthen that connection would simply tantamount to a profane desecration of something simple which even Taylor Swift could do. Some say alcohol loosens you up, makes you unabashed, and indeed I have seen people do exactly the same. Confess about their non-existent sex lives, imaginary girl friends or the allegedly hot girl they befriended over the Internet and who in the end turned out to be dude, cry about how hopelessly they have fallen in love with the girl next door who btw was really hot and that made me cry too, without alcohol though for I did turned her down once in my hey days of being a class heartthrob. But strangely alcohol never worked for me, instead of bringing my deranged side, it invariably, apart from making my head wobbly, puts me to sleep.
So no, no one ever got the better of me and may be what’s inside me keeps me away from people. The things that are bottled up, things which you say no longer matter but deep within you know they do, all the unfulfilled desires, dreams that are hiding within, maybe that’s what keeps us all from being who we really are.
In my case, a guy who would do just about anything to make you smile but won’t dance, sing or tell incidents from his life.
