A Stream of my Consciousness

“Shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy, one, two, one two and shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy.”

Ha, my coin belt is making the most satisfying sounds. Chica chica, chica, chica. Right, eyes follow hands; it’s sexier. Hands wide and twirl shimmy, hand up and shimmy shimmy down.

**Chica, chica, chica.***

How am I going to write a short story about an unreliable narrator? What do they mean by unreliable? Do they mean crazy? Maybe I'm just generally so distracted that any of my narratives would be unreliable.

“Caroline, do you remember your hip lifts?”

Why is she singling me out? I do, but I don't remember the names. Just move your body and show her. Side shift and lift, side shift and lift, front step and lift twist, switch to the other side, front shift and lift twist, backstep, keep going; she didn't see you stumble, tuck in and lift your ass.

“Right!”

That's a relief; why is she singling me out? Do you think she knows I'm high?

“If you can hip lift but can't move, you're just stuck.”

Isn’t that the truth? I think that’s how I feel about life—doing one move over and over again, but you don’t know how to transition, so you’re just where you are forever.

“Frame your hips with your arms!”

Right, right hip framed, left arm up. What was the pattern she taught to this song? Down, up, up, down, up.

“Remember your footing?! Freestyle between step step and step front, step back. Move your arms and hips to the music.”

Finally, I can just move. Shuffle, hit the beat, boom boom.

I think Delaney has gained weight.

Caroline! What a thing to think, although the weight looks good on her. I've never noticed her ass before.

Why is my hair not doing that swishy thing? How do I get a sexy hair swish?

I bet if I take shrooms, I can write a short story with an unreliable narrator.

Ooh, Arabic rap!

“Caroline! What do we do when we hear Arabic rap?”

Shimmy shimmy and ooey gooey.

This feels good; I love this song. The beats are solid. Shimmy and figure eight. I bet that looks hot. Follow your hands with your eyes and sexy smile.

“Caroline, do you know how I know you're overthinking? Your arm isn't up high and stretched beautifully; you've let it curve down and collapse. Up, up!”

I guess that's fair; I was distracted. Barb’s headscarf is fabulous. Maybe if I had a headscarf, it wouldn't matter that my hair doesn't swish.

I should have run less than 15 km before this intermediate class. Where am I at? Is this over 2.5 hours of intense activity? Yep, I burned 1637 active calories today.

Yes, I got so much practice on my finger cymbals last week. Everyone is going to be totally impressed.

Right, left, right, right, left, right.

Do I have anything on tomorrow that would prevent me from doing shrooms?

Who is my narrator even going to be? I have so many stories and partially written characters in my mind. I'm sure the addict teacher would be a good narrator, and I definitely have some frustration to work out with him.

Why has he not texted me? He was so mean; he owes me an apology. It’s not my place to text first. Oh, I could definitely write a story about him and how unreliable he is.

“Caroline, hit the fast beat, dundadundadun!”

She's definitely picking on me. But I bet she's high too. That ooey gooey Arabic rap was sexy as fuck. Those are not the movements of a stiff sober person.

Cooling down; okay, I can now think.

My toenails need to be cut. The blue polish is growing out. I wonder if I'll lose a toenail if I touch them. They were in rough shape a few weeks ago, and I'm only running more.

I need an answer to what character I’m going to run as in the Disney marathon. I've been asked too many times to be floundering with a response.

Wow, my legs are light. I can wrap both my index fingers around the thickest part of my thigh. My weight must be way down.

Okay, shrooms and addict teacher for my unreliable narrator. We have a plan.

Fuck, my fall clothes are not going to fit. It’s cold out tonight.

I wonder if the kids are still up to kiss them goodnight.

“Bye, Caroline, good work tonight!”

My calves are burning; I need to space out my runs and dance class.

Where is my car?

Aww, that's so cute; her husband picked her up. I bet she's going to sexy dance for him later.

Thank god for heated seats.

Arabic rap for the drive home? Definitely.