Yesterday, I was tired. My man was away, I had worked really hard on a screenplay and I haven't been sleeping so well. I can't always blame my son for the latter, by the way. I was sad too, as I had gone to redo Botox and it seems the doctor failed to get it right yet again. This is when dependency starts becoming a burden. Also, I have a ripping pain in my shoulder. Still, I decided to go to flamenco class. I'd missed quite a few classes, so I knew I was going to be pretty bad. To my surpise, I felt that was okay. I took a step back and relaxed. Instead of dancing relatively well simply out of sheer force and determination, I allowed myself to be what I was feeling: vulnerable. Interestingly, dancing yesterday felt more emotional than it has ever done. On leaving the class, I suddenly realized where all the melancholy from this past week had been coming from. I am getting old and I'm trying to accept that. Ageing does not occur gradually. It's like you're being sculpted and the sculptist has decided to throw a slab of clay at you. This extra bit of clay is to become a part of you. In due time, it will harden.