Tuesday, November 14, 2006


I spent last night doing back ochos with my hands planted on a wall. The step begins with a sidestep, say, left to right, and then moves in a figure eight; so, side step left to right, then the left foot steps back right, the right foot steps back left, and so on. Step, pivot, step pivot.

"Ankles together," my teacher told me. At least it wasn't appended by "Instep!", because I've been standing on my insteps whenever I can, to get used to carrying my weight there. People at Real Job are starting to wonder about me.

I banged my ankles together with every ocho; step, ankles, pivot, step, ankles, pivot.

"Point your toes; your thighs should separate."

Step, point, ankles, pivot. Step, point, ankles, pivot.

"Don't sink when you step! Upper body up, up, up."

Up, step, up, point, up, ankles, pivot.

"With grace, please."

With every ocho the inside of my shoe scrapes the floor, so flat I can feel the wood floor against my foot; from the CD player, the bandoneon wheezes.

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