Well, the dance was exceedingly cool. I'm finding that what everybody says is true, that the better you know how to do it the more fun it is. I assume the music was really good too, but I'm not good enough yet that I can pay much attention to the music.

It's funny how the men pick up on the fact that you're new (though at age fifteen, what else could you be?) and help you along. I learned three new swings, only two of which I remember. And that was fun. Swings are. There was one dance we did that consisted entirely of going around in circles in various ways, and you can bet nobody in the room could walk in a straight line by the end. The room became a blur of wood and icicle lights and windows and swings were strangely comforting because your partner's face was the one thing that wasn't moving. Or it was, but at the same rate yours was. I kept wishing I could see if everybody's eyes were as unfocused as mine were, but of course I couldn't because I couldn't see anything.

There was this strange old man who did everything at about half speed. Swings consisted of shuffling around in a circle. I think he dressed as a Scout Master for Halloween a few years back. And there was the one in the orange shirt who swung faster than anybody, which was scary, but the most fun. And there was a big old man in a red polo who always has fun seeing how clsoe he can come to lifting your feet off the ground and giggling to himself. The giggling was a little unsettling, but there's something really cool about being almost airborne. At times I was just pivoting on a few toes. (I figure I'll enjoy that while I can because there's no way I'll be light enough for that to happen when I'm thirty.) Dancing with my father is nice because he's good at it and he knows what what I don't know how to do, so he's a good teacher.

I think all dances should be like contra dances, where partners are people you dance with and nothing more. I went to my first school dance last winter and loved it - except for the slow dances. They were horrible because they were the only dance where you had to have a partner, and you would sound awfully rude if you turned someone down because there's no plausible way to explain that you wouldn't like to dance with anybody, not just him. So you're stuck with your hands on the shirtcollar of some guy who's possibly even more nervous than you and you want to run and you can't. Also, he looks at you funny when you bow and thank him at the end out of habit. At contras the whole purpose is to dance with strangers and enjoy it. And if you know people there, it makes it more fun, but it doesn't really change anything. And plus, slow dancing is no fun. You stand there and shuffle staticly from foot to foot. Waltzes are fun. I woke up this morning and to keep reminding myself to walk across the kitchen, not dance. It was like my body had paused to sleep and wanted to keep going where it had left off. I could have gone on a lot longer, too. I didn't miss a single dance except two partner dances I didn't know.

I am really psyched about this Persephone thing. I've been working on a text for it, and I think I could manage to do illustrations with some practice. The story just speaks to me. The story is like a fairy tale in that I see the whole thing in pictures, not words. The images are so strong they just appear whole in my mind. Persephone standing on the hillside with her light hair blowing around her is the one that keeps coming up.

Technically this story should belong to Christine because it's a really obvious Christine Daae parallel, but I'm trying to get away from associating things with certain people. When we were little, we would wear whatever colors we pleased, and as we got older we started to associate different colors with different people. Bridget was black, Christine was white, Caelia was red, I was green. And then I realized that in my dreams, the clothes I wear are colors I normally wouldn't think of as nice. Like once I dreamt I was running through an airport with Bridget and wearing this beautiful Edwardian peach-colored dress. Another time I saw a girl wearing a dress with yellow roses on it, and thought it was really pretty. And when I woke up from both these dreams I realized that I disliked peach as a color and yellow roses, but that maybe my subconcious didn't. It was a strange thought, that my subconcious could have different taste in colors. The thing was that I was judging colors solely by what I associated them with, and maybe I was missing out on some neat things that way. Not just with colors, of course. Like I associate Persephone with weakness and gothic heroines and chloroform, but I'm realizing now that it's a really neat story if I just look at it without any prejudgement. I'm starting to enjoy a lot of things more. I still don't own any black or red clothing, but I've stopped buying things just because they're green and purple.

Anyway, I thought I could rewrite the story, do my own illustrations, and publish it on the web. I seriously doubt I would ever get it published as a book and I would rather give it to people for free than to have a lot of hassle selling it to a publisher years from now. So I will continue to work on it and you can see it when it's done.

April 19
April 22