Oh my wrack and toil, oh my heart and stars. The body aches today. Every joint feels violated and every muscle abused. On some very fundamental level, every snap and creaking pop declares dancing a success. I suspect I went into it somewhat violently last night, non-stop from nine-twenty to two-thirty. I jumped on people, was swung around by people, and was generally given plenty of open space, no matter how crowded the dance floor. All while running soley on an energy drink and some candy bars bought from the club vending machine. Take that, groaning machine. However much it hurts, I’m in better shape now.
After my shower, I discovered two puncture wounds, equidistant from one another, on opposite sides of my neck. My best guess is that this is the price paid for hugging people with especially spiky collars. It looks odd, however, as if I were a product of some traditionalist sort of mad scientist who pulled the tiny plugs from my neck before letting me out. Too obvious, you see. I didn’t kill anyone who kissed me, however, so obviously I’m getting better at being in a cuddly public. I’m curious as to what sort of lipstick some of them used, as it took some scrubbing to remove it from my chest this morning, but I’ve no way of asking. Who are you people? I’ve no idea. My livejournal was brought up a few times, entirely by these people I don’t think I know. Apparently there are plans to friend me in the works, so that I might begin to, but so far no one’s followed through. Perhaps they too are lying in crowded knots of wanting to never move again.