Sunday was the undercurrent of our time together. Sunday, ostensibly her day off, her time to relax, wear comfortable clothes, not worry about make-up or her hair, relax in the warm light of her condo, listen to some music coming from her iPod.
But she's reading a script for work, thinking about her love life, wondering about her future, the improvements she wants to make to her house. There is no respite from her life, even on Sunday.
This time she dances. Last time she was wrapping gifts, kinetic in her productivity. But this is Sunday, so her movement, though no less propulsive, is now less about creation, more about release.
But here, like before, it is a joy to watch her move.