Thursday, February 19, 2004
Linoleum
I love to dance in the kitchen. I take off my real clothes and put on my jammies. Because I know who I really am when I’m wearing my pajamas. I wear my hair however it feels comfortable. Out of my face – so I don’t have to fuss with it. Or long and down so I can whip it around like a crazy woman. Free.
I sing it all. Country. Folk. The Gypsy Kings (in Spanish) although I don’t know the language. Rap. Funk. 80’s cheesy songs. It doesn’t matter to me what it is when I need to sing. It’s something I just have to do.
I usually have an audience. I rarely open my eyes long enough to really take them in though. When I sing I’m usually really alone. (Well, unless Vi is there. And even then it might depend on the song.)
I turn the music on and I turn it up loud. Mostly loud, but just low enough so I can hear my own voice. The way it starts out – singing. Singing to me, anyway. Then it turns to more yelling, I guess, as we stride towards the bridge and in to the final verses. I wave my hands in the air like some American Idol cast off and lose myself. Lunatic.
My favorite part is stamping my bare feet on the linoleum.
Zoë
