I wanna dance with somebody

It’s New Years Day. I’m hiding in my room after getting rage while trying to feed Eva scrambled egg. I’ve left poor Stephen on that battle front. 

I’m tired of feeding Eva scrambled egg. And many other meals. And watching Peppa Pig. And putting the play dough away. And thinking of three meals a day. 

The past three New Years haven’t really been humdingers - two years ago I was knyping my legs shut in order to make sure I didn’t go into labour before the stroke of midnight. A year ago my beautiful Gran passed away on New Years Eve and this year my family went back into self motivated lock down as South Africa stares down the barrel of a second tsunami and a shortage of hospital beds and a non forthcoming vaccination. 

I miss New Years at Ting’s houseboat on Spionkop dam. And Pimms on Flo Ridl’s lawn. And sleeping in our old Peugeot station wagon while my parents rang in midnight at the Country Club. I miss kissing catchers. And hoping my crush is home for the holidays. And my first taste of Reds cider. And putting on makeup. And picking out a New Years dress. And kissing Stephen at midnight with a fresh engagement ring on my finger. But most of all I miss dancing. Geez do I miss dancing. 

For those of you unfamiliar with your Sunday school Bible stories it may come as a surprise to you that Jesus’ first miracle was turning water into wine at a wedding. It doesn’t surprise me at all. He understood the importance of celebration and community and ritual and dancing. He knew that humans are better when we are together. When we have reasons to celebrate. When we buy in to love. 

This evening I had a deep, grumpy ache. Stephen might actually choose to simply describe me as a deep grumpy ache at the moment. 

And I had to really dig deep to try and work out where it came from. And as I was unpacking the dish washer I suddenly realised - I just want to dance. 

I want to put on a freaking frock and high heels and dance. And then at some point I want to be so vigorous with my dancing that I then have to take off my high heels and dance barefoot. And then at the end of the night I want to wonder around dazedly trying to find my shoes again. And then I want to wake up completely stiff the next morning, with a smile on my face and a hangover induced by sleep deprivation.  

In short, I want to feel like a human again. I want to feel pretty, and free, and expressive, and flirty, and connected, and alive. 

It’s amazing what happens when you play the old jazzy war songs to the few remaining people who were young in the 30s and 40s. The nostalgia and immediate memories are palpable. For many the beats of that era were the only things that got them through utter catastrophe. I wonder what is going to happen one day when we play the treffers of 2020?

It’s pretty shit when you are facing a catastrophe and it is social interaction that causes the catastrophe. People die because we want to dance. People die because we put our needs for connection before people’s right to life. 

But all this doesn’t stop me from wanting to go to a wedding, or 21st, or even play musical statues at kid’s birthday party. I long for connection. I just want to have some fun. 

But I won’t. I’ll stay at home and watch Peppa and get my Checkers shopping delivered and pray for the health care workers who deserve to dance a whole lot more than me. 

But boy oh boy when that dance floor opens one day I’ll be the first one on it. And I hope you’ll all be joining me. And that is why, for now, I’ll turn my wine into water.