Dear Impulse...

Dear Impulse, It was NOT easy to wake up this morning. Not because I was physically and mentally drained from yesterday, and one night's sleep could never make it up. Not because I had aches in my body that had to be put aside to go about my duties as a member of something that required me to do so. It was because of my dreams. I dreamed that my 2-gallon water jug was full of unfiltered hose water and pieces of grass, and that the impromptu strap I'd fashioned for it (after the previous 2 had broken) was digging into my bare shoulder as I stood at attention in 2-by-2 ranks, worn tennis shoes absorbing humidity from the air as I stood on the damp asphalt where we had done stretches that morning. I dreamed that, in an afternoon heat somewhere that killed every blade of grass that one could see for miles, I was still vertical, with perfect posture, trying again and again to make a rotating line straight, shaded only by the brim of my baseball cap and feeling my sweat-slicked torso burn in the heat. I dreamed that I was half-awake late at night on a bus, driving 120 miles to a remote high school somewhere in the vast open spaces in the middle of the country, feeling the gentle rocking of a moving vehicle as I looked at 50 of my best friends asleep at each others' sides, each exhausted by the never-ending journey from one place to another, each only finding some familiarity amongst the people next to them. I dreamed that I was walking around an arc of silvery instruments to fetch my uniform, my sacred costume that unmade ME and made a CORPS. The thin fabric of the sleeves needed rolling. The course straps needed adjusting. I had to make sure the zipper was tucked in and the collar hooked together. I had to run a cleaning cloth over my instrument for last-minute shine. I had to relax my aching body and sharpen my mind for the show. Impulse, I dreamed of you last night. Not the fun in the stands, not the thrill of accomplishment, not the pride of improvement, because these are fleeting emotions, and easily forgotten. I dreamed of the raw sensation, the flood of feelings that I will never experience again. I hunger for the time when I was a part of something so powerful and so primal that it could make 100 people in their physical prime exhaust themselves, physically to the point of collapse and emotionally to the point of tears, and still have them come back the next day for more. I miss coming back the next day for more. Do NOT waste time complaining about the heat or the water or the humidity or anything that's greater than your control, because when you finally move on, and corps is over, you will HUNGER for these things. You will desire it with everything in you. Don't be fooled into inattention by the same routine from day to day, pay attention to what you feel. FEEL.