Dapple

Cynthia wasn’t a painter; she had never picked up a paint brush unless forced. She was an ombudsperson. Her job, every day, was to listen to complaints and attempt to address them. The calls that ended even remotely amicably were few and far between.

And so, when Cynthia got home each day, she picked up a water balloon heavy with molten color, and flung it as hard as she could against a canvas. The paint sprayed out from the point of impact, covering her arms and face and apartment with a fine mist. And she felt a little bit better.

It's a new quarter, and so a new schedule for aerial fabrics at Stanford. The schedule is more crowded this time; intermediate classes twice a week and two hours of open gym time a week as well. Of course I'm tempted to do it all, but I probably shouldn't. We'll see. And apparently both of the experienced teachers are leaving in the next six months or so, which means they're leaning on me heavily to take on some of the classes. It's a hard choice. I love aerial silks, and I enjoy teaching (and coaching), so it could be fun. But I like the fact that I'm not accountable for anything but my own joy right now. Silks is how I vent, and unwind, and relax; I don't want to ruin that by teaching.