Dancin' Machine (Watch Me Get Down)

The entire week the HellCat has been suffering from intense tension headaches. And, in the tradition of those who know maybe a little too much about their bodies, she fears the worst for her adrenal glands and her taurine levels.

I have been attempting to figure out how to get enough of what I need to keep my body from switching gears into survival mode. It ain't easy to figure out how to right this wrong, because my mind feels fine. Perhaps my thoughts are a little more fast and furious than usual, but otherwise, it's business as usual in my cranium. The kicker is that my body is showing signs of extreme pressure.

What could this mean? Well, it just might indicate that I am always this stressed, and because of this I am fooled into thinking it's normal. My body is exhausted and is acting out. Perhaps there is a land of candy cane joy and lollipop dreams in store for me if I calm down a little...a world where scarce work and sputtering personal relationships have little impact on my time with the Slip N Slide of Happiness. Is that what life could be like? Puffy clouds to catch you when you fall, and massages everyday?

Hmm.

Anyway, in the meantime, meditation doesn't seem to be hitting the spot, and I am running out of Excedrin. But the HellCat is HellBent on being proactive, so I decided this morning to get rid of my stress permanently. How, you ask?

I decided to hold the first official Treehouse Dance Party.

Friday morning I woke up, psyched from a great concert, some great texts, a fast-approaching visit from my college roomie, and the promise of hot lovin' later on. But how to revel in my joy? I thought about it, and it dawned on me that I don't let music do much work for me anymore. Rarely do I turn it on and let it seep into my bones, repairing whatever damage was done that day. I used to have time to do things like that, and I theorized that its absence from my life might be one of the reasons I'm having trouble.

Newly loaded onto Conchata Lawrence was the new Kanye West album. LeezyB played the first single for me recently, and it is, in a word, hot. So I turned up my stereo and waited for the magic to happen. All of a sudden, my feet were moving. My hips were shaking. And my lips were smiling.

I felt so much better after unabashedly shaking my ass for five minutes that I have decided to make it a tradition.

Here are the rules. When one wakes up in the Treehouse, one must remain in their jammies, whatever they might be. They turn on their favorite dancing song and go crazy. It's not about looking good or exhibiting your fly dance skills. It's about letting the notes have their way with you, recharging your soul and setting you free (as an aside: These are two very different styles of dance, in case you weren't aware. When I am in the club, trying to look hot and probably attract a man, I dance one way. When I am in the Treehouse letting go of the existential smog clogging up my bod, I dance another. One involves clear heels, the other involves a lot of funny faces and arm-flailing).

I have decided that this is a great way to rid myself of all this tension, and it makes me laugh really hard, which accomplishes the same thing.

Also, please note that sometimes, if some extra silliness is needed, I put on my ear flap hat. Pictures forthcoming.

I think the next step is starting a Coalition of Dance Machines, where people who are concerned about the quality of life for one and all get together and make mix tapes for everyone's dancing pleasure. We will hold fundraisers to help those who need dancing shoes, and help others start Dance Parties in their homes. Join the revolution! Skip with me now...

she ain't messin' with no broke...g