Real Work Will Wait

Today I will be brave and chop off my hair! Well, I won’t, that would just be silly.

I keep wanting to grow my hair out long, but then I get to the phase I’m in now where I can absolutely not go another day with the way it looks.

Hence, today I will chop off my hair!

Of course, today I should also be grading papers and writing lesson plans, but I kind of don’t want to. I kind of don’t want to do anything.

The world will so not end if I don’t do my work today. Of course, then I’ll be scrambling to get everything done this weekend, which I will regret then.

But, then is not now. Now is now. And I want to work on something else, something fun.

Today I will give myself time to work on my romance novel.

The real work can wait until the kids are in bed.

Paper Demons: How to Battle Depression

When you’re depressed, the first thing you should reach for is a pen and paper to write out as much depressive gunk as possible, but you may consider yourself lucky just for getting out of bed.

I know how difficult creative motivation can be when you’re stuck in a depressive episode.

Why is it that so many writers get depressed? Or maybe the question is, why do so many people who have depression turn to writing?

Writing is a self-healing method that the body, mind and soul recognize as beneficial. Writers are also driven to express because of their deep level of introspection. Of course, some depressed people might be too introspective—thinking about the world until they become overwhelmed by thoughts, unable to write them out and instead drowning in them.

Why not plan ahead for those unavoidable miserable times? Choose now that the next time you notice yourself feeling depressed, the first thing you will do is write. Convince yourself now that every time you feel depressed, you will write automatically. As a smoker reaches for a cigarette out of habit—you’ll reach for a pen. Without thinking.

That would be a pretty good promise to make, but could you keep it?

I’ll admit it, when I’m depressed, writing feels like the last thing I want to do. I feel like I have nothing important enough to say and even if I did, who would want to read about it? But when I’m feeling pretty centered, I know that I do have things to say even when I’m depressed. In fact, when I’m depressed I’m very in touch with my deeper emotions. The longer I put off expressing that dark frame of mind, the more likely that part of me will never get understood.

I’ve wasted too much writing time being depressed. I’m sure you have, too.

The knowledge that writing can help lift the blanket of depression is a powerful tool in itself. Although you may have times when you are so depressed that you can’t even remember the fact that writing out your depression can help, perhaps there will be that one time when you remember.

Pick up a pen and a piece of paper and scrawl out all the horrid feelings you have, instead of going over them in your head. Exorcise your demons onto paper where you can see them, then you can be more objective about your feelings, certainly more so than when they were part of your internal dialogue.

Once thoughts are out on paper you can choose what you want to do with them. You put yourself back in control. You may want to put your written feelings away for a while. Open a desk drawer, shove them in and tell them you don’t feel like seeing them anymore today. Then when you feel stronger, go back. Reopen that drawer and pull out your paper demons and look at them square in the face. Demons don’t like this because suddenly they are seen for what they really are—just thoughts.

Take a good look at your depressing thoughts. Feel them. Acknowledge them. Now you have the upper hand. You are in control and choosing when and how you’ll come across them. Next time your demons show up in your head you may not feel so bad. You’ll recognize them as words on paper.

So, remember to shake some ink onto a page and lessen your wandering mind, thoughts and depression. Keep your hand moving. Empty it out. And then you can let the thoughts go away. Just like that. Send each thought packing with your pen strokes, right out into the air and away from your body and mind. 

Roll Your Hips, Baby! (No matter how silly you look…)

One of my guilty pleasure songs that I would normally never admit to liking is "Hips Don’t Lie" by Shakira ft.Wyclef Jean, but today I was looking for some music to really shake things up for myself and I’m here to say, I love this song.

My musical tastes usually run the gamut from alternative rock to classic rock to fizzy pop (I just made that up, but I think you know what I mean), but there’s something about Shakira that just makes me want to rumba (I have no idea what a rumba is).

Music and sex have always gone together. Sometimes a song will just make you feel like rolling your hips and swinging your arms and grinding the air, but don’t worry—no twerking here!

I just wanted to let some music wash through me and let my body go without trying to be “sexy.” I’ve shied away from dancing to music that might be construed by others as me trying to be sexy, but this song just makes me feel good.

And what’s the point of life if we aren’t allowing ourselves to feel good every now and then? Whatever good means to us…

Goodness gracious, am I going to turn myself into a feel-good guru? Like, I prescribe you to play a song every day that makes you feel like time has stopped, that makes you want to let your body go completely, that makes you want to dance and sing and laugh!

Yes! That is exactly what I prescribe. Get up and dance (and as you can see, you do not have to be able to “dance”; I most decidedly don’t move like I come from Columbia, rather like I come from some small CT suburb)!

Just get up and move!

Trust the Process

Great ideas abound inside of my mind. So many, in fact, that I don’t seem to get any of them done!

Does this sound familiar?

As any creative types are sure to understand, it’s not easy settling on a creative project to work on. What ends up happening instead is that I get nothing done except for daydreaming.

I’m finding my daily dance and blog is at least keeping me in the game by making sure I write something everyday. Dancing is keeping my energy moving and helping me to reconnect to my body in a healthy way. The daily check-in with my emotional state is also proving beneficial because I’m forced to deal with my demons on a daily basis.

All of my hesitancies about who I am and what I should be doing are being brought to the forefront. I’m choosing to see all of this as a “practice,” just like yoga or writing. I’m allowing myself to discover what things means in the moment instead of having it all figured out from the beginning, which never works for me.

What’s important is the process. And I’m in the process in all ways—physically, emotionally, creatively and spiritually.

Now I’m working on letting the process be enough. I’m constantly striving for the finished “product.” Not that there’s anything wrong with wanting to have something to show for all of one’s “practice,” but I’ve got to also let the practice be enough itself, without needing to prove anything to myself or others.

Dance Anyway!

Friday’s video gave me a lot to think about. Thanks to someone sharing my David Bowie “Fame” dance on a Bowie fan site, I’ve managed to rack up 750 views compared to my usual handful.

At first I was getting all these really nice comments and the virtual attention made me feel really good, but then I noticed a few snarks about my “dancing,” which made me reevaluate watching my numbers.

I had to remind myself why I’m even doing this.

I guess if someone were to just stumble upon one of my videos without knowing why I’m doing it, they might totally be like, “What? This girl can’t dance!”

I guess it doesn’t really make sense out of context. But even as I write this, I hear myself apologizing and wonder why I feel the need to do that. Like, a part of me wants to shout, “Hey! I’ve never had a dance lesson in my life! And I’m a mom with three kids. I’m not that bad with all things considered!”

But why do I even feel the need to justify my dancing? I’m dancing to feel joy, to remind myself I make my choices everyday whether to choose joy or to stay small and sad. I dance because it makes me feel good and I like sharing my videos to inspire others not to feel trapped by the world’s expectations.

Most people expect dance videos to be shared because the dancer is awesome. Well, you know what? I AM awesome, but I’m not a professional dancer. I’m awesome because I’m not afraid to be myself and share who that me is at the moment. I want to show the world that you don’t have to be a professionally trained singer or dancer or ANYTHING to want to share the joy you feel doing those things with the world.

We can just sing or dance or cook or write or run or tell jokes because it makes us feel alive. And sometimes feeling alive is all that matters.

And here I go again, apologizing for my video today: my camera battery was flashing, so I didn’t know if I’d have enough juice to get today’s video shot and then I started dancing to discover I had zero energy and didn’t know if I could make it through the song. The whole video, you may pick up on my mind saying, “I should quit. Why am I doing this? I can’t even make it through this one song. I’m going to quit…no, almost through…power through…”

Wow, no Zen mind here today.

Time Management

I remind myself that time is the one thing we all have equal amounts of, but with three kids and two jobs, it often feels like I’m on the short end of the receiving line.

I just finished working on a large grant for the literacy center where I volunteer. It feels so good to finish a looming project and really be done with it, to be able to check it off the mental list of things needing to be done.

There are enormous lists of projects I want to accomplish, but the hard part is always trying to decide which to focus on next and right when I think I’ll have a few moments to work uninterrupted, something else calls to me (often quite literally it is a small human tugging on one of my body parts).

Then all the daily work “needs” shout louder to be dealt with: take care of the kids and the home, write lesson plans for two colleges, grade papers and other assorted administrative stuff, then there are health and relationship issues to be dealt with.

And all of a sudden it’s Midnight and I’ve got nothing “extra” accomplished for the day. I think I need to set time, even if it is a tiny amount of like 30 minutes a day, to work on new writing projects. If I commit to it, just as I’ve committed to dancing and reflecting on my mental state every day, maybe I can squeeze out a few more valuable minutes out of the day.

Or I could just take a chill-pill and be happy with getting done the basics, but I think that’s not healthy overall for me. If I’m not working on something, writing something, plotting something, I think that’s when I become stagnant and depressed.

Now to figure out where I’m getting those extra thirty minutes from…

Baby Steps...I Kept My Cool!

Do you ever notice how things happen in clumps?

Like if someone sneezes twice, it’s likely they’re going to sneeze a third time. If a few people die, you’re almost waiting for the next phone call.

That seems to be happening with me in the technological area the last few days. First, a grant I’m helping to write for a literacy center that I volunteer with—the website I was inputting all the data into crashed (or rather my computer crashed) and none of it was saved and I had to go back and re-input all the info.

Now, I make a video on the same camera I’ve been using for two weeks and all of a sudden it won’t upload.

Won’t. Do. It.

I had to remake the video and make it shorter; I’m thinking the computer won’t transfer a video longer than five minutes or something.

Frustrating.

I’ve been watching myself the whole time. Watching my reactions to these frustrations that are kind of out of my control. Seriously, it’s like I’m this little bird fluttering above my head and watching it all go down. And to get really meta on you, I’m also aware of myself above myself, so it’s like a triple-awareness circle going on.

Now here comes the good part. I didn’t lose my cool.

Didn’t. Lose. It. At. All.

Normally, I’d be cursing and blaming the Universe for hating me, but over the last few days I’ve been much more aware of what I can and cannot control and how all I really can do sometimes is say—so what?

I can’t go back in time and change some things and it’s pointless in getting upset about them. Sometimes I just have to say, it happened, what should I do now (besides getting all upset and losing even more time in the process)?

So I made a new video and made it shorter and you know what I learned? That I’m really out of shape (that’s why you’ll notice I kind of petered out at the end there) and I could probably stand to start building up my fitness level with more dancing or more yoga.

And if bad mojo really does happen in clumps, at least I’ll be ready for it.

Honor the Self

One thing I’ve noticed, now that I’m two weeks into doing my daily dance devotion, is that I’m becoming less attached to the outcome every day, which for me is a good thing.

I tend to be perfectionistic and unable to “do” things in front of people that I don’t think I’m good at, which is why dancing and sharing it afterwards is healing for me. At first, I had all kinds of questions about my motivations and what I hoped to achieve from dancing, but every day, it matters less.

I’m finding that a lot of the good feelings I get from dancing and blogging are reverberations of the pride I feel in myself for showing up every day. I suppose it is much like a dedicated yoga practice or a devout religious person who shows up every day to their mat or to their place of worship to begin their day.

Right now, my place of worship, devotion, is here, to myself.

I have carved out this little place (very little, with too many toys, as you will see in today’s video), this little time, this little space to honor myself. To honor whomever shows up on the floor with whatever issues have arisen since last I met myself.

I will honor myself today. I will rise and move today. I will be alive and conscious.

Pump It Up

Today I just need to get my energy moving. I need to be proactive and ignore the voices in my head. I need to do what I know to be good for myself, whether I want to or not.

I cannot focus in on what I feel or don’t feel. I cannot let the deadened me win.

I need to act as if: as if I know who I am, as if I matter, as if life holds meaning, as if I am capable of loving and being loved.

I need to keep returning to this thought today: This is not a permanent state of being.

Just because I cannot access the joy right now does not mean I will never be able to feel it.

I will not deny what is going on for me right now, but I will not give in to it either.

I am capable of joy. If I close my eyes and focus on my heart, I can feel it. The love is still there. I am still there.

I will remind myself to close my eyes at every given possible moment today and tell myself I am.

Remember These Things

Remember to reach out to friends and family whenever I feel myself being pulled under depression’s tidal wave.

Remember that I am valuable.

I do not need others’ approval to have value.

Stop judging myself for what I feel.

Remember my value and be of service to those who suffer like me.

I am not alone.

I do have value and that’s why I’m dancing—to remind myself of it every day. To feel my body move. To challenge myself to acceptance. To see myself as I truly am, warts and all. To celebrate life. To feel good, if only for a few minutes.

I do not need to be anything the world wants me to be. All I have to do is be me and value that person.

Riding the Waves

Trying to figure out how to speak about what’s in my head is difficult.

Many people who have suffered from depression know what it’s like to not want to scare people you love or sound like you’re looking for sympathy or just that you’re a jerk.

That’s part of why I think depressed people don’t talk about what they’re going through. There’s quite a sense of shame and stigma attached to what is inside our head. As if we are choosing to feel depressed because we aren’t trying hard enough to not be depressed.

I understand that at the moment the thoughts I’m having and the feelings I’m experiencing are transient. I’ve been through this before and as long as I monitor my own self, I will be fine. As long as I stay detached like this, where I can step back and see my depression from a somewhat healthy part of myself, I know I will be OK.

It really is like waves. If I remind myself, when the waves do not have me completely engulfed, that all I have to do is remember I know how to swim and that I will float to the surface if I don’t get scared and fight the rising water, I will rise. I will bob to the surface.

One wave at a time.

I Will Dance

One of the hardest parts of being in depression's depths is when others don’t understand.

Snap out of it!

But you have so much to be thankful for!

Focus on the positive!

Your life is great!

My depression often has nothing to do with my outside circumstances.

I’ll admit I’m having a bad day today. The weight of the darkness is residing in my chest and my body physically hurts.

I woke up with a sense of gloom hanging over me, a sense of the meaninglessness of it all.

I reminded myself of all those things well-intentioned people point out—I have a beautiful family, work, a house, food, but none of that matters.

The children start the day off arguing:

Sit on my bed first, Mommy!

No, mine!

Even though we’ve worked out a schedule where I take turns of whose bed I’ll sit on first—that all falls away into whining and crying. And then the oldest joins in.

It’s not the kids and the arguing and noise that makes me depressed, but when I’m already depressed, this kind of nonsense just spirals me out of control.

Before I know it, the morning has devolved into everyone screaming and crying and my daughter wrapping her arms around me, telling me it’s going to be OK.

As I sat there on the bathroom floor, dripping wet from the shower, naked, with her arms wrapped around me, I felt so hopeless, like nothing was possible.

It was then that I realized the depression is really coming back. The euphoria of the initial off-the-meds that my system went through is wearing off. The debilitating thoughts are returning.

As I calmed down and managed to get myself dressed, I told myself there’s no way I’m going back on meds. I told myself there’s no way I’m going to traumatize my kids for life either.

I drove my kids to school. I got a soy, no water chai and returned home. I sat down at my keyboard and was able to write. This is a good thing.

And I will dance.

I have these things still today.

The Monster In Me

Do I want to make friends with my monster? Or fight it to its death? Is the monster a part of me? A sick part? Or just a byproduct of my culture? Is it something to be slayed or something to be tamed?

I’ve tried so many methods of dealing with my depression over the years: ignoring it until it wasn’t possible anymore, hating myself and the world and blaming everyone and everything else, taking out its frustrations against myself through self-harm in multiple methods throughout the decades, embracing it and trying to accept it as who I am rather than as a disease, medicating myself into a fog of supposed tranquility, trying desperately day-by-day to meet its ugly face, writing about it and now—a new approach that uses a little of all these past attempts.

I’m meeting my monster every day and trying to shake it out of my system. I’m writing about what comes up every day as I deal with this monster that is depression. I’m taking a stand before its claws become so sunk in again that I can’t breathe, that I can’t move.

I am moving. I am dancing. I am sharing my struggle, my journey, with others in hopes of being a handle for others who might need to grab on. And in turn, I am hoping that when I need someone to grab onto, I will find others who understand and who will be there for me to hold onto.

But the biggest problem is that when the monster is in control, I can’t reach out. I go into hiding. I become the monster.

Is my urge toward creativity the way I make sense of who I am? If I didn’t try to understand myself, didn’t try to express this thing inside of me that wants to be released, would I then become the monster for good?

Would the monster win?

Trying to Just Dance, But All This Other Stuff Keeps Coming Up

I’ve been thinking about what made my stripping different from the dancing I’m doing now—besides the getting naked part.

I’m obviously dancing for me now rather than for pleasing a male customer, but I am sharing my dancing, which does give me an audience, albeit once-removed.

When I was a stripper, I was overtly dancing to be sexy, but because I’m an actress first and foremost, I was never (well, except when I was tired, depressed or angry) not “performing.” I didn’t just get on stage and booty shake.

I like to think I was more like a burlesque dancer, who had intention behind her performances other than just “being” sexy. I performed improvisational routines or performances. My dancing was like a narrative unfolding, not just clothes shedding.

I’ve been having a recurring thought about what it would be like to perform to what I refer to as “strip songs”—the songs I relied heavily on in the clubs. I know that sometimes I’ll be in a grocery store or Target and hear one of those songs come on and I am filled with the urge to dance, to “strip.”

And some of those songs aren’t altogether typical stripper songs either. I had mixed tapes (yes, cassettes!) that I used at some clubs. I danced to Depeche Mode, which is not the first band to pop into most people’s heads when one says Stripper Songs!

What I’m finding interesting as I dance now is that my body naturally moves in ways sometimes that might be thought of as “sexy,” even when I’m not trying to (and actually trying to NOT be sexy) and I’ve been judging myself.

I’m just trying to have fun and fight my depression. Then I hear the question, umm…since when isn’t sexy fun?

I’m not surprised by my own judgments, my own fears, my own insecurities.

I wonder what would happen if I allowed myself to feel sexy. If I allowed myself to dress to look “pretty” and wore heels. If I found Enjoy the Silence on Youtube and played it and witnessed what my body would do.

I’m not ready for that place today. I just want to remind myself to allow this day to be the best it can be.

You're Going to Hear Me Roar (I Think, I Mean, I'll Try...)

How does movement help fight depression?

My friend said it’s like this—if we keep moving, the bad thoughts can’t catch us.

Sheila running from depression
(actually from that guy in the yellow shirt who said we couldn't shoot there)

The only problem is that I can’t keep moving at all times. I can barely get myself to move at all sometimes, especially when I’m depressed.

I’ve felt some bad mojo building up the last few days; I’m hoping it’s because I didn’t take the time to do my daily dance over the weekend.

I definitely believe in a life force that moves through us; I AM a yoga teacher, after all. It makes sense that it is beneficial to get that life force flowing throughout the whole system, if only on that base a level.

Then there are all the other systems and levels that movement frees up.

The other interesting thing about movement for me is the myriad of other issues that are all tied up in it other than just depression.

I can’t dance freely and watch it play back on video without some of these other issues arising from day to day: my stripping past, my body image issues, my self-esteem and self-confidence (or lack of), the roles I play, my desire to be a performer and be seen, my desire to help others create change and a happier life.

Today, I’ll just pick a song that I know makes me feel good when I hear it and let it pump me up for my day. I will use Katy Perry’s inspiration to inspire me and keep me lifted. I will remind myself that I can roar in my own way, or that I will try, at least for another day.

Choosing My Voices

Why are you doing this? It’s a big waste of time. You have too many other things to take care of. You should be grading papers. You should be writing important things, big things. You should be trying to make a buck to improve your family’s life.

You’re an embarrassment. Do you really want strangers seeing you dance badly? Do you want this on your permanent record? Do you want this to come back and haunt you some day?

Can’t you just hear the questions: Don’t you think that was poor judgment on your part, to post photos of yourself dancing on Youtube? Don’t you think you’re too old for that kind of nonsense?

Well, if I listened to these voices I would probably have quit already.

I’ve got news for you Depression. There’s a new boss in town and she’s calling the shots.

I know the voices I choose to listen to today. The voices that tell me to have fun and celebrate life, to do what makes my heart sing, to express myself, to find joy in the moment and in movement.

I will dance. I will celebrate my life and my body. I will be the person I choose to be.

A Mom's Search for Meaning

I just finished listening to “A Man’s Search for Meaning” by Victor E. Frankl as an audio book. I had read it when I was getting my MFA.

My psychiatrist had recommended I read it again. He’s been pushing me to find deeper meaning for my life, to transcend my self and self-actualize.

I think a big part of me fights the idea that my deeper meaning and transcendence should come from some inherent joy I should receive from being a mother, a wife, because I always feel like those things aren’t “important” enough in some way.

I understand it though. If I base my happiness and meaning on outer rewards like writing a successful and popular book, then I’m just being goal-oriented.

)

If I can find deeper meaning and fulfillment from my lot in life right now, then I have a greater chance of feeling full rather than depressed. But I also know that I don’t feel personally satisfied or complete with being “just” a mom. Perhaps I have some deeply ingrained ideas that being a mother isn’t really important or honored in the world. Perhaps I don’t see being a mom as important.

I am very happy to be a mother. I want to embrace this role as much as possible, but I also have to be true to those deeper rumblings, which tell me I need to dance or sing or perform or write or whatever.

I need these activities, these pursuits, for me.

I will make room for me in my life. I will say that what I desire is important.

Side note. Isn’t it interesting that after watching my video from today that I feel the need to defend my belly? I had to keep telling myself to look away from the belly while watching. I know, now that I’ve drawn attention to it, you won’t be able to look away either.

But why do I feel the need to defend it? All my thoughts flying through my brain: I wish that I had not worn a short top that exposed my belly. I should have realized my belly would look wobbly and been more thoughtful to my viewers and covered it up. But I’ve had three babies and I haven’t been working out. Will people be disappointed in me for not having abs of steel? Will be people be disappointed in me for caring I don’t have abs of steel?

Why must I judge myself even when I’m having fun?

It’s interesting. And I’m proud of myself for seeing my issue that way. As something interesting to note and wonder about.

Gotta Give What I've Got

Today was the first day that my mind upped its game and started whispering destructive thoughts in my head.

I was quick to shut down the unhelpful and unhealthy words though. I sent them packing. And while I could still feel their rumblings of negativity in my blood, I was able to focus my more conscious thoughts on my day ahead.

I’m not sure if it’s cause and effect or just a building up of stress, but I’ve been noticing over the last few days a sense of overwhelm. I have so many projects and responsibilities resting upon my shoulders right now that I do not have enough time to give all the things time that deserve and demand my attention.

I know I only have so much to give, but I keep wanting to do more and accomplish more, especially when I have made promises to people.

)

My friend Marion Loguidice’s song Gotta Give What You Got popped into my head today as a good anthem for myself. I need to give what I have while I can, but I also need to give to myself. As a mom, this often gets pushed to the back of the stove.

I’ll only have a little bit to give if I don’t take care of myself.

I've Got To Get Up and Try

I dialed it down a notch today; I’m feeling like my body isn’t quite ready for Lady Gaga. I returned to my yoga roots and let myself flow through my morning madness. I trusted in the radio to provide me with a good song and Pink’s “Try” was perfect.

I focused on the words: You've gotta get up and try, and try, and try.

Pull myself up by the bootstraps. Live one day at a time. And all that crap.

)

Sentimental, corny, and true.

Some days it’s about getting up, dealing with the four kittens that were born in my dining room that night, getting the kids fed, dressed and to school, writing, preparing lesson plans, grading and going to work.

And making sure I give myself at least those five minutes to dance or sing or stretch or whatever makes me feel good and alive.

But is it enough to sustain me throughout an entire day? How long can I make the good feelings last?

Rage, Body Image Issues and Bad Romance

Rage is a new feeling for me and it scares me because it makes me imagine what it must be like for other people whose rage is even stronger than mine.

I yelled at Tommy this weekend because he wanted water after bedtime even though he’d already said he didn’t want any. My exhaustion didn’t want me to get up and get it for him.

So I yelled. Loudly.

I am so mad at you.

His little feet padding away down the hallway sipping at his little turtle cup.

You are so rude!

This little three-year-old being. A deep, but not rational, part of me thinks he’s trying to get away with something. It’s a power play and I shouldn’t give in. And he’s starting to scream again after a good half-an-hour of yelling at bedtime. And that’s why I screamed.

I’m so tired. I’ve got nothing left inside me.

Must these bursts of rage be a part of my life without antidepressants? Are they normal?

I must admit I was looking forward to my dancing today. I’m already enjoying the “me” time. I dance just for me. And to feel joy or whatever strong emotions I can shake out of my being.

An interesting phenomenon arose today after I viewed my video of me dancing to Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance.

I noticed not only the joyfulness of my dancing, but I noticed the negatives, too. I saw how my arms are out of shape and kind of wobbly. I saw my funny faces that I’m sure people will laugh at and judge. I saw some dance moves that looked a bit suggestive and silly.

But on the bright side, I also noticed how quickly I was able to say, so what?

This dancing thing is for me. For me to fight my depression. And to learn more about myself.

One big thing I learned today, I am not in great physical shape. After dancing, I had a coughing fit and some serious lung ache.

How in the world do performers dance all-out AND sing at the same time, for goodness’ sake?

This is me. These are my issues. Welcome to my world.