I wouldn't exactly say I stormed anything today.
Luke and Christy and I trained in the park in the morning, tag-teaming acro doubles, doing stretching and handstands. Families out for Bastille day stopped and watched and we didn’t keep doing any one trick for too long, got through heaps and ate lunch happy.
Then in class I had the big hopeless.
The big hopeless is different to the big vulnerable.
The big hopeless thinks: ‘I actually can’t learn this. I can’t learn it. I am just going to turn up for the rest of the weeks and be pathetic; this pathetic and that’s it. I can’t do it. And neither will most people here.’
It's less humiliation than resignation.
I didn’t write down the insults today because I didn’t find them funny. And it wasn’t fun to hear him tell each person how bad they were today. Every other time I have been hanging off the hilarity of the insults. I have been avidly in each moment, watching as people try and then fail and then he insults them.
Today I wanted to put my head in my hands as each disaster unfolded onstage.
And I think this is supposed to happen. I think we are supposed to go here to the hopeless for some reason, but I’m not sure what yet. So I’ll just go back tomorrow and see what comes next.
Tonight about twenty of us went out for drinks and to ‘watch the fireworks’. We travelled absurdly slowly: the dithering of twenty people is a disaster. We barely saw the top of any fireworks from a crowded street. But it was cute. The wandering and chatting and photo-taking and all the little checkings in with each other that happened. The geraniums 3 stories up in the dark and the friendships which kick off as you wait for stragglers together on a street corner and you begin to hear about a person's loves and struggles.
Happy Bastille Day, Paris.
Happy Birthday Nana Pix. Respect.
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