A Propensity to Pine

During the Summer I find it unusually difficult to get anything done, 

mostly because I find myself lost in dreams of all kinds; day dreams, 

dreams that come in a deep sleep, dreams from which I am sad to awake.

I'd rather design costumes in my dreams than execute them in real life 

& I'd rather put to practice the choreography that comes in the night during

a performance than during rehearsal. I can't seem to overcome lackadaisical

tendencies in order to become productive. This is no surprise, I've always 

been this way during Summer. The heat gives me only the desire to submerge

myself in cool waters, to quench my thirst with tart lemonade, and to laze

around in cool baths. 

Summer + Jolie = A propensity to pine for my aspirations.

{ Taffeta, chocolate, and Lady Borgia}

After having a week off from the world of work, this day is designated

to the art of costuming. On the burlesque dancer's work table it's quite

standard to find tufts of tulle tucked beneath waves of shimmering silk,

bundles of thread, taffeta, chiffon. And amongst the array of shining

silver snaps, sparkling indigo rhinestones, and leopard panels you

will surely find a cocktail and bonbons (for purposes of sanity.) These

little accoutrements of sanity are something I learned from my dear

Lady Borgia, the woman who took me under her wing five years ago

and taught me not only the sewing skills every burlesque dancer 

should know. From her I learned the necessity of a crisp bar of

chocolate, a fresh cocktail, and a cool breeze blowing through the

windows.

 

{the soft sweet, and delicate things become even softer, sweeter, and more delicate}

Isn't it splendid how on particularly difficult and rough days

                                 the soft sweet, and delicate things become even softer, sweeter,  
                                and more delicate? After you feel as if you are worn to the bone

what is more perfect than the smooth creaminess of fresh berry

ice cream? What could be more comforting than the plush smoosh

of feathers in a pillow as you lay your head down? A garden of roses

is filled with velvet petals, curling with delicacy and tenderness.

A fresh breeze blowing through an open window, the carefree splash

of water on thirsty skin, the caress of pink cotton towels hugging you.

It all happens as if it was designed to say, "It's okay. You're okay."