“DANCE FIRST. THINK LATER. IT’S THE NATURAL ORDER.”

(Samuel Beckett)

Strained eyes signaled the arrival of the 3PM “sleepies” yesterday. I refused to nap, bent on reestablishing a normal sleeping pattern. Twenty minutes of deep breathing meditation at least replaced stale oxygen with fresher stuff. Then I decided to dance three times to Jason Mraz’s 4:59 minute song, “Butterfly.” A repeat of last night. If I told you his voice, lyrics and brass section of this tune turned on a switch in me, you’d understand to what “butterfly” refers.

Mraz dons the cover of the current issue of NakedFood magazine (naked as in vegan). I listened to his earlier music, upbeat, lyrically maze-like songs like “Curbside Prophet” and “The Remedy.” “Butterfly” too, even if it laid it on a little thick with the sexual imagery (“I’m your pole and all you’re wearing is your shoes”), but still creating a deep buzz. It’d been ages since I danced to it, pretending I was the girl, of course; that’s the point of songs).

I read his interview in NakedFood (ladies, a test–while talking with female friends in a crowded venue with plenty of guys around, inject the word “naked,” “breasts” or “turn on” into the conversation. Like that old–80s–Merrill Lynch commercial, every guy within earshot will snap to attention. I proved it to friends on a college campus, opening the door to its Starbucks and saying, “Huge turn on.” Every guy’s head whirled in my direction. Hilarious. But I digress). Either he’d grown more attractive with age or by being vegan. Probably a mixture in that he’d grown emotionally and ecologically hot too. I wanted to hear him sing again.

In past posts I mentioned music being a great healer, usually, but that recently I’d lost that sensual, desirous part of myself. Well, fifteen minutes of dancing to “Butterfly,” remembering its unique timbre, and I was the prettiest girl at the party. Being alone I was but wait–the chick locking eyes with me in the reflection of my big picture window looked pretty. I felt pretty.

And that image echo on the wall, well, she could’ve been anyone having fun.

P.S. I slept two hours last night. No regrets.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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