I wish... I could street dance (part 4)

It's OK to miss a beat, as long as you keep going.

I needed practice. So I practised. I cleared some space in my studio after work, found the recording of street dance lesson two, and reenacted it. I did it over and over again, observing my performance in the reflections in the windows and praying that nobody was looking in. I got better. I think. The real test would come in the next street dance lesson.

Expecting me to tell you all about lesson three? Forget it. I didn't go.

There must have been a good reason, right? The lesson must have been cancelled or my car broke down or the Government introduced an emergency law banning street dance? 

Nope. Sorry. None of those things. 

The truth is, I didn't feel like going. I didn't want to. I didn't feel up to it. 

Doesn't sound like me, does it.

Thursday was my day off work. That's not unusual. I work most weekends so I often take a day off mid-week. I did what I normally do on a day off: I slept late, made myself a huge breakfast, and sat around in my pyjamas watching Hornblower. 

OK, I don't normally watch Hornblower. But it's the latest DVD boxset I've got my hands on, and like all DVD boxsets, it's completely addictive and I can't wait to watch the next episode. Play all!

It was all going so well until I ducked to avoid the postman. I didn't want him thinking I was a lazy slob. So I decided to do something productive with my day. I got showered, got dressed, and set about tidying up. Not just a superficial tidy either. A proper clear-out.

That's when I found the Christmas card. The Christmas card that my ex-girlfriend had given me 9 months ago, just before she left me.

It was like being punched in the guts. My breathing went funny. My eyes welled up. Suddenly I was back in our flat in London, laughing and chasing each other and calling each other Muffin and planning all the things we were going to do, like get married and move to Derbyshire and have wellies at the back door. Then we were arguing and crying and she was walking out of the door with a suitcase. Like in a soap opera. Only this was really happening. And there I was sitting in the dark again, hurt and alone and utterly devastated.

I tried to tidy my way out of a deep, dark pit of sadness. I threw out photos of her, a T-shirt she'd bought me in Canada, Christmas presents that I'd bought her and were still wrapped up in shiny paper. But it just made things worse. 

I went for a walk in the woods to distract me. It helped. For a while. Then the memories came back. We were going to get married this month; Saturday the 11th. We'd booked a hotel. She'd bought a dress. By the time I should have been leaving for my street dance lesson, all I wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep and make everything go away. I shut my bedroom door and switched off my phone. I didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. 

I'm gutted that I missed the street dance lesson. Heaven knows I need it! But I'm not going to feel guilty about missing it. I was in no position to dance. Unless foetal position is a street dance pose. I doubt it. 

I'll go to the next lesson. It's OK to miss a beat, as long as you keep going.

What is your wish of the month? Have you kept going?