2025.07.09.

The doctor would then operate with hip replacement.

Or the state.

Or Social Security. Whatever.

I decided I have to write about this.

In detail.

Part 1.

Being hurt is a process. Always. There is no such thing as not. After all, there are 365 days in a year, so 365 times you think it will get worse.

Or better. Who knows...

It doesn't hurt ... so much when you dance. It's a bit of psychology, I think. It just fucking sucks that I can see that I can do worse than the lame dancers...

The former pro...

I gotta laugh.

And I'm teaching it, pure Mekk Master.

The lame dance teacher... well... ha ha ha... ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

The snitch is a thing of the past...

And the leg lift. I never thought it would be difficult. Well, here it is.

Once:

Monday: OldBoys , Pecsa.

Tuesday: Rocky Party Alcatraz,

Wednesday: Cadillac, Almássy Square,

Thursday: Birds,

...you'll never guess...

Friday: any kind of ballroom dancing party.

Saturday: Saturday Night Fever.

Sunday: Ötórai Tea.

I've liked it for decades...

35 years of competitive dancing, and now...

What is it like to live a life that moves, lives, pulses all the time, and then is doomed to go into contemplative mode?!

I am not retired.

I don't think I ever will be!

Dance classes, camps, parties, balls, events, dance weekends.

Umm...

Aflamin. It's the name of a painkiller. Prescription.

I have to laugh. I've never lived on any medication in my life. And now...

Nobody can see it's shit.

Nobody sees it's rickety.

Just that he limps.

Fucking hell!

But I do it because you, life, my job, my partners, my students expect it of you.

It's actually right!

Because it keeps you alive.

I go, I do, I live, I teach.

Today, too.

And then a naaaaaay, long sigh.

Long live social security!!!

Because 09.07.2025.

Bye!:))))