Holy crap.

Sometimes my inner little kid wakes up & says, "Holy crap, Tara, YOU'RE DOING IT," which is to say I somehow became a Real Dancer, as in...a grown-up. Who gets paid. To Dance.

Times when I forget that include: 

  • when I'm staring forlornly at my impossibly colorful Google calendar
  • when I'm standing in my living room mesmerized by Beyonce's thigh for like three hours because I'm trying to get the Single Ladies moves right
  • when I'm wearing a cape and laying on the ground waiting for instructions
  • when I'm trying to remember the difference between Lenin & Trotsky but all I can think of is Variations on the Death of Trotsky
  • when I'm at work
  • when I'm cleaning the cat box at midnight
  • and many more!

It doesn't look how I thought it would when I was a kid, but when I think about it, I like it.


I'm helping!

Trotsky = Died by ice pick.

Lenin = Did not.



Wait, are you sure?

Wait, are you sure?

Variations on the death of Trotsky

I played Mrs Trotsky once in that play.  The play was defnintly not about me or there would have been more angst from me about my husband and Frida Kahlo 's affair.