How a Dance Party Saved my Soul

I've been having a pretty shitty week. 

Nothing epic or major, all uptown problems, just your run of the mill what-am-i-doing-with-my-life?I-am-lost-and-lonely-and-broke-and-stressed-and-miserable type thing...
Jake is out of town for the summer and I'm missing him desperately (ugly cry), paying rent completely wiped out my finances (seriously. I've got 11 dollars.), and I'm feeling like a very small fish in an overwhelmingly large pond (full of really attractive, well dressed, successful bigger fish). 

The entire week I've felt like a glass doll, ready to shatter at any minute (excuse the poetic lament - mental instability makes me lyrical.) A very thin layer has been holding back tears, and they've been coming in waves all day.
8am cry into a glass of iced coffee.
9am cry while running the reservoir loop and attract pity stares
9:45am cry in the shower
10:15am cry while sitting on the floor watching a video of Kermit and Debbie Harry singing 'Rainbow Connection'
...
You get the idea. 

So last night when friends from my improv class invited me out, it was the last thing I wanted to do. (Sticking to a strict crying regimen takes discipline.)
However, they worked at convincing me to go (mostly by offering to buy me drinks), and I agreed. 

We went to Akbar, a well known bar on Sunset. What was not well known to us, however, was that it is a well known Gay bar. With a well known dance floor. 
It. Was. Awesome. 

I don't know what came over me (vodka), or what sparked it (vodka), but I completely let go. 
I danced for three solid hours to disco and early 00's hits and everything else you could think of. (The Gay community has amazing taste in general, but they wrote the effing book on dance music.) 
I didn't care that my hair was getting frizzy, or that my white Keds were getting scuffed up. I didn't care if my dancing looked stupid (it did) or if I was gonna be hungover the next day (I was), all I cared about was being in that moment and having the best time. 

It was exactly what my weak and weary little soul needed. 

Looking around the disco ball confettied room (did I just make that word up?), I was reminded why I moved here. To try new things, to meet new people, to collect new experiences and adventures.
Being brave and pursuing lofty dreams is not easy, and I'm learning to deal with that. 
There are days that suck. And then there are days that really suck. And then there are days that don't suck at all, but you are just going through something, so they end up sucking. But the best sucky days are the ones that end up being simply the best. 

Bryan Ferry (my love) sings about dancing away the heartache, and that's my official new philosophy. I know there's science behind the benefits of dancing and social interaction and all that, and I know that there's logic behind the recharging properties of social outings for an extrovert like me, but all I can tell you is that the next time I'm in a funk I am heading straight back to that bar to dance that shit out. 

So, basically what I'm saying is - next time someone wants to buy me a drink, I have the perfect place.