Last Friday was an ending. Or a beginning. Or maybe just a mile-marker on a marathon course. Anyways, Friday was something.
The week had been full of lessons, classes, appointments, chaos, decisions, indecisions, STUFF. Life stuff. You know. The weekend was slow to arrive, and then finally, finally, finally: Friday.
I'd been holding my breath about a matter for about a month, and on Friday evening I got (good) news that let me exhale some of that heaviness.
And, later in the evening, my new improv team (which technically hasn't been 'new' since January) finished our scheduled run of shows at our theater. Closed that chapter and started a new one as an 'indy team.' Went to a charmingly sketchy bar and - crowded into the same corner where we sat all those months ago - we celebrated with a round of shots and high-fives.
Afterwards, we crossed 8th Avenue to attend our theater's birthday party. (Six years young.) It was late, and the party was crowded. I didn't think I'd stay more than a few minutes, but then we started dancing, and then it was 3 a.m.
After a day/week/month/year like this day/week/month/year has been, sometimes a girl just needs to dance. To shake off the bad and celebrate the good. You know? Yeah, you know.