Sunday after Next

After my first day of summer intensive rehearsals, I remember tripping out when reminded that I wasn’t at UCI taking a dance class, but rather, I was three hundred miles up north in San Francisco dancing with the Funksters.

That was about eight weeks ago.

In less than one week, I’ll be back in school. And now, I know, when that first audition workshop comes, I’ll be tripping out when it hits me that I am dancing not in San Francisco with the young faces of Funksters, but with the unfamiliar faces of (mostly heterosexual) college-age students in Irvine.