Ballerina.

When I was younger I never knew what I wanted to be when I grow up. Actually, I think I was telling people that I want to be a doctor.  Nah! Maybe because I spend so much time in hospital when I was kid (the moment I walked through  the front door, I would show the nurse my back). In order to be good, I used to get those plastic injections.  I’m wondering why people don’t ask us now what we want to be when we grow up. I’m not a grown up yet. I don’t want to be.

When someone would ask me now what would be my future profession I would say:  a ballet dancer.  A ballerina who plays piano.   I’ve always been skinny and my fingers are long-you need that, right?  During the day I would attend my classes at some Russian ballet school with all those masculine men holding you and tossing you here and there. Of course, I would not be prima ballerina-I would be standing somewhere behind her in case she fell. (I’ve always been clumsy, maybe that’s the way I attend folklore instead). After the long day I would enjoy my piano lessons. Chopin and Tchaikovsky were always my favorite. Wagner, too. Oh, I would play Tristan and Isolde and made choreography for the same. Ballerina would dance and dance possessed with passion  dying to find out that that their love is immortal.