I am a walking bruise. Our current project in breakdance tricking is learning to do the windmill. While I do have a ridiculous amount of fun kicking and rolling around on my back in considerable pain, I can't shake the feeling that I look like a complete retard. The fact that my attempt looks nothing like our instructors just seems to reinforce that. Sometimes I feel like I go to this particular class to obtain a ridiculous amount of bruises, and give myself the choice to either wear them as battle scars, or use them as whinging grounds for the rest of the week. One day I will learn to nail just one move, and pretend to be a serious B girl, but until then, I will stick with my ridiculously short and unstable back spins.
Due to my bruises and some sore muscles, I grabbed my roller out when I got home and had a quick session. The whole time I was doing this, my landlords dog was sitting in my doorway, his favourite spot when his owners are out. Numerous times as I rolled, I would glance up and see him staring at me through his fringe, obviously thinking that I was mad, but as soon as he realised that I was looking at him, he would glance away as though he had never been watching. I'm really glad that he can't talk, as he's probably seen me do quite a few odd things while he sits in that doorway.
After I realised that my landlords weren't home, I occupied their backyard to practise my handstands. I located a patch that was relatively free of Prince (the dog's) poo, and then thoroughly absorbed myself in my personal version of a handstand, and when I actually managed to hold one, I gave a surprised squeal and fell to the ground. I continued to practise for at least another 10 minutes, much to the amusement of my neighbours, who were watching from their veranda, a fact that I did not realise until I was going back inside. Mr Emphysema was talking on his phone, blatantly staring a chuckling. In my mind I gave him a cool salute and strutted back into my apartment, but in real life, this became a deer in the headlights acknowledgement and an awkward leggy retreat. All I can say is that I really hope I improve.
Little Duck, out.
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