Inspiration in my Bamboo Haven

So the recent Garden Adventures in the BoTan have been a great way to clear my mental mayhem. While the heat is no longer a heat wave, it still seems to have done substantial damage to my accute awareness, and it's taken days, if not weeks, for me to feel even close the peace I felt since before my menacing night out with Lena. Needless to say, whatever trouble we unleashed on Catani Gardens is still to catch up with us... Kharma has never been my friend, although I think i've been reasonably good up until my one very-Lena-influenced lapse.

Being at the BoTan helped me think. Its not so easy to clear your head space from all the unnecessary clutter acquired over the last few months. I'm glad I found this quiet slice of privacy. I've lovingly dubbed it my Bamboo Haven.
I suppose the tranquility allowed me to be at ease with myself again. I actually felt like dancing again while I was alone in there. I've gone through the idea over and over again since - could I really do it? Am I ready for it? Weighing up the pros and cons:

Pros:
Dancing is my whole life and its all I know
I'm good at it (and not to say that in any sort of arrogant way, but its actually something that I am genuinely good at.)
It's my way of expressing myself creatively.

Cons:
Her. I'm always and constantly reminded of her.
Every twirl, leap, step, every jump, every time I step on the floor, close my eyes, every time I even just think of dancing I think of Her.






Its awfully sad and terrifying flying solo...

Trouble Trouble

It's days like today, when the heatwave ends and sanity returns, that I find myself sitting alone nursing my throbbing headache and battered conscience, asking myself where my I had left my inhibitions, attempting to join the dots but failing miserably.
Note to self: When out with Lena... remember to pack a spare pair of knickers? don't do drugs? make her drink it before you do? remind yourself you're not gay?
Sigh...
Thankfully, the UDI (Unidentified Drunken Injury) count is not that high and the largest bruise is about the size of a 50cent coin on my upper outer thigh. So I've evaded the battered housewife glares this time around.
UN-thankfully, there is a stream of photographic evidence that spills the beans on our random acts of rambunctious behaviour. Must remind myself to hunt... and destroy.


Found a bit of Luck that might help for next time though. After all, what goes on tour, stays on tour... right?


***

A terrible discovery:

My favourite t-shirt is ruined. Beach-ruined. Who should I hold responsible for this tragedy? Sigh...
The others must be getting sick of my acting out. I know I really should get a grip and pull myself together... but really, i'm having far too much fun. I don't want to have to stop before the party ends.
It really is a tragedy about my shirt though. It was my discreet-but-oh-so-special RaW t-shirt. Designed it myself... can't get that replaced now can I? The answer is no. That last part was rhetorical.