I blame Beyonce

A Confession

I spend a lot of time alone, it just ends up that way. In my isolated boredom I become more and more antsy as I click around the web, read books, or tidy up my living space. Then it happens, my Ipod selects Beyonce, and I'm moving. Backbends and splits intertwine with hip swaying dance moves. I find myself putting on music video after music video. Madonna usually joins the mix, as do Ciara, David Bowie, Scissor sisters, Michael Jackson, Justin Timberlake, and um... Okay, Fergie (don't judge me). Next, with my feet still stampin', I find myself trying on crazy outfits (that I would never leave the house in) and putting on outrageous make-up. I emulate the dancer's moves in the videos, sometimes I use props ala chairs, mirrors, and walls. I dance til my thighs scream, and I am dripping with sweat. I dance til' exhaustion. Then I slowly un-peel my scandalous get-up and crawl into bed. The next morning I wake up with make-up and glitter covering my pillow, and I feel fabulous.

deja vu