I quite loathe those days when I just fail at dance and thus start off on a bad foot for the day.
Today was one of those days. It seemed that for the life of me, I could not get a hold of the tango with my lab partner for my first hour of dance. Then whilst dancing the American social standard waltz, it just felt like every partner was too close. I could not get the timing right and I kid you not, I had my toes hit 3 times at least. It did not help when at the very beginning of class, one of the guys was trying to "cheer me up" and proceeded to "tickle" my sides. Yeah. No. You know those days when a tickle feels more like crab pincers in your sides? Or rather when a guy does not seem to be able to remember that you are a girl and must be tickled gently? Yes. That was today and it was that guy.
I asked him not to touch me, rather waspishly I will admit, and then he proceeded to apologize and touch my shoulder... a couple girls had witnessed it and though I am sure he felt a little affronted, they remarked that he had just done what I had asked him, nay! Demanded! That he not do... I will have to apologize on Wednesday but I just could not have it today, apparently.
As I walked home after a rather disappointing two hours of dance (which I usually thoroughly enjoy) I was walking through the BYU Bookstore and saw some beautiful paintings of the Savior along with one that I imagine could have been Mary, the one who went to His tomb, in the act of reaching out to the unidentified subject---who we could assume was Christ, I am sure.
My heart broke a little. Somehow I have not realized how near to the surface tears have been for me this weekend--though I didn't get rather teary during the Relief Society General Broadcast on Saturday and then on Sunday during which I watched the rest of it.
Walking home thereafter was quite the experience feeling as though I would break down and cry at any moment but then not. If that even makes sense.
(A side note: the discovery I made on the way home is I no longer like to walk at the ground while I am walking. I am not sure when it changed, but my usual gait is to look up into the world's face, looking for people who might need a smile. Well, I hardly felt like doing just this on the brink of tears just in case something else triggered the water works that I loathe displaying outside the comfort of home and church.)
Promptly upon returning home, I bundled up in my blankets and read my scriptures. Honestly, it has been a few days. Possible attribution to my woeful spirit? Most likely.
The end of this week will bring General Conference. I feel so much love from He who watches from above at the wisdom that lies behind the spacing of our General Conferences--every 6 months for those of you who are not members of the church. It always seems to come when my confidence is at its lowest, when I am the most confused, the most unsure of what steps will lead me forward.
Lighter note for this post would be the fact that my younger sister is expecting her mission call this week. I cannot believe how old she has gotten! I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about it and she remarked on how she still thinks of my sister as being 12 years old, new to Girl's Camp and in our cabin. She has really grown up and filled out since her lanky and waspish-limbed self. I could not be more proud of the young lady she has become and find it an interesting contrast to wishing she would be able to look up to me to looking up to her now.
She's a good girl. Genuinely and I know the Lord has big plans for her.
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