The wind is strong. This is one of the first times I’ve ever felt swept into something without feeling the future in my heart. I don’t necessarily know where I’m going. And the way things are going in the now are very thin. Like a sheet that’s easily swayed into shapes and shadows that are diluting my perception of reality.

My body hurts. I’m rehearsing for tour basically 9am-6pm every day in a small manure dusted town in the middle of Amish Bonnet Pennsylvania. The air is green here, like the trees. And my empty brain has too much room to think across these tiny brick buildings of old America. I’m in 22 numbers in the show we’re touring. I honestly didn’t think that it was possible or legal to be in that many numbers as a dancer. And after running the show a total of 4 times now, I still don’t think it is.

We’ve had streaks of tears and sweat run down the carvings of our bodies. Carvings that only seem to get deeper with each passing day. As if the energy that swept us into this mess were trying to dig deep inside of us. Like this was its plan all along. Lure these beings into a trap, and then try to figure out if they’re hollow or not.

I don’t know if I’m hollow anymore. “How do we show you we love you, without boosting your ego?” was a question one of our bosses asked us. “How do I show you I love you, without boosting your ego?” I hope I don’t wonder that when I have a child. I hope I don’t wonder that when my friend does something I want to be proud of them for. I hope I don’t wonder that when my boss shows me a video of what they’ve been working on and I absolutely love it.

I wouldn’t wish the bottling of emotions onto my worst enemy. I hope they know I hate them. And I hope I know they hate me too. I hope they know I want to pick apart their bones, rip by snap, put them in a big black pot on the stove and make the most evil potion known to man. Because even in this deep deteriorating hate, at least they know I’m thinking about them.

I want everyone to know I’m thinking about them. But lately, I’m not thinking too much. There’s not much to think about. I don’t really care about anything. I don’t think I’m depressed. I just truly don’t care. I don’t feel love from any direction but inside. I don’t know how to feel it in ways that aren’t natural to my own. It’s not easily recognizable to me when people love me. But, I guess that’s just the way I am. I don’t want to have to try to feel someone’s love. I don’t want to have to try to love someone. And I don’t. I never have. It should just be natural. Compulsive affection in the moment of feeling. I haven’t felt that from anyone in a while. I do feel like I give it. But, I don’t necessarily know if it’s felt or not. Everything’s grey right now. Damp.

I wonder why the energy wants to know if I’m hollow or not. I guess I would like to know too.

With a heavy heart, I give you permission to keep digging.