INJURED. Again.

Annnnd I'm down again. Out of commission. Back on my ass.

One of my old trusty, musty injuries has flared up to the point where there is nothing to be done for it except let it rest and heal, then get back to rehabbing it.

So it's back to writing. Video editing. At least I still have some sewing to do on The Massive Dance Filming Project. (You have to have read the novel series inspiration for this project to fully understand the above Bitmoji--or follow the Work In Progress links in this post so you can at least see what we're all geeking out about.)

Amidst serious injury, I always get majorly depressed somewhere around the third day when reality truly sets in. Yup. There's no denying it. You're down.

At that point, you just have to go with it. Somewhere around the fourth day, the pirate ship tends to flip, allowing me to be transported from The UpsideDown into Healing Mode. If you don't know this reference, it comes from the first time I majorly re-tore my meniscus just before I was supposed to attend a women's retreat in Spain.

On a mountain.

When I had been incapable of walking for a week, then had to hobble everywhere on a walker.

Against all odds, I made it to and through the retreat, thanks to the wheelchair that got me through the airport, the Jeep that drove me down to the classroom space on the first day, and my retreat sisters who acted as my "crutches" for four days until the stunning miracle healing occurred.

For the past twenty years, I have done this dance over and over so many times that, this time, reality actually set in right when it happened. I knew that I was dealing with significant injury, not a tweak. So even as the depression and frustrated anger set in, the ship was already starting to rock from side to side for the inevitable flip of, "Okay, how can I distract myself with things that are just as inspiring as all the things I can't do? Is there a way I can jerry-rig a silver lining out of this? What CAN I be excited about right now?"

At least I already had poptarts. That's a pretty special treat around here. I was mad that they still didn't have a single flavor of my favorite granola bars available so I consoled myself with cherry poptarts.

Now I'm really consoling myself with them. And with the oranges. They actually had large navel oranges available last week for the first time in about a month! (Still no figs or dates of any sort.) And my batch of burritos turned out particularly good this week, so...

Yeah.

There's food.

Really amazing food. And super comfy places to sit and to lie down. And I have awesome books I'm finally able to pleasure-read after a decade of not being able to. (I lost that ability with brain traumas #2-4, and finally reclaimed it a few months ago.)

AND.

I'm mad and depressed. RAWWWWWRRRRR. Eh. Not like injury depression and "Dammit, who moved my cheese!" is unfamiliar.

But I hadn't been this excited about dancing since around...oh...prolly 2010 when all the "you can't, don't you dare" bullshit started seeping into Fusion belly dance from its far more numerous and vocal detractors. But this new project, being basically cosplay-in-motion of a non-existent world full of non-existent cultures had set me free once more.

Until I tweaked myself amidst choreographing.

Again.

Okay, fiiiiiine. It just means that I'm not allowed to do that particular type of move anymore, and I'm supposed to go about this project more slowly. More gently. Re-injury always tells me when I'm doing too much.

So I cut out a bunch of "sword-leaves" from silver glitter foam this morning for the Sword Tree dance (talk about silver linings). Now I'm about to get back to editing some more of my blog series about how I started writing my Gladiatrix. What a messy project. Both the blog series and the novels.

But making messes is a huge part of being an artist and a creator, just like recovering from injury is a huge part of being a professional athlete.

I gotta say though, I really do miss the monetary aspect of that title.

What would that be like? A world where it was "duh" that artists got paid for all the work we do instead of being expected to be happy with getting paid in "exposure?" Exposure doesn't feed and house a human body. Neither does it pay for the operational expenses of being an artist or the maintenance costs when one's artistic medium is being an athlete. (Especially an athlete who's been through two car wrecks and some cases of injurious violence.)

So for those of you who help keep my head above water and let me do things like pay for a website, further educate myself, and buy silver glitter foam so I can sew a gazillion little flickering, whirling "leaves" onto a costume and then entertain you by twirling around in them...

For those of you who help keep me in neuro-chiropractor appointments so I am wracked by fewer instances of bodily injury and a distinct lack of seizures...

For those of you who gift me with geeky hats, geeky stuffies who lurk over my shoulder while I do hand-sewing and leaf-painting, and who help me brainstorm my geeky fantastical worlds...

For those of you who nerd out with me and get super-duper excited when I tell you that I sewed The Light Blue Dress and ohhhh does it knot up around my knees beautifully, or that I finally figured out how to put my brunette wig into a 6-strand knot, or that I conveniently have a ginger-blonde pixie wig, or that my dad spray-painted my ring with the pale blue stone from tarnished gold to the silver it needs to be...

Thank you for cheering me on and helping me do what I do.

Even when I'm depressed on my ass.

Especially when I'm depressed on my ass. 🥰

Want to follow all the Work In Progress shenanigans of this huge artistic project and my latest injury recovery in real time, instead of waiting around for...some year when I can post the finished product? You can find it on my Ko-Fi Page and in the Danceyliciousness WIP gallery.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

--UP NEXT: THE INCONCEIVABLE - ASSumptions about the Gladiatrix

(apparently we're all about ass lately.)

--OR: My Never Give Up Playlist so you can dance, even if I can't. Except in my chair. Which I'm doing right now.

--THE NAVIGATION TABLE OF CONTENTS