Friday, January 16, 2015

One Lonely Piece of Toast

I look over at Dia, and thankfully I'm not the only one with sweat dripping down my forehead. It's insane how tiny little movements repeated over an extended period of time can be so painful. While focusing on the blaring EDM music, we tuck our pelvises in, tighten our abs, and pump up our pink three-pound weights in time with the beat.

"You guys are doing great! So strong, so powerful! I know it hurts," our peppy instructor shouts over the music, "if you don't like it close your eyes." So I shut them tight. 

On my drive home from class, I pass a sad Christmas tree wrapped in plastic laying by a dumpster on the side of the road. I begin to think about the past year. I've been living out in the suburbs of L.A. When our city-dwelling friends make their way out to visit us, they always comment on the peace and quiet of our home. We have a big back yard, plenty of space, and relatively cheap rent for the area. 

I will be saying goodbye to these creature comforts as I migrate to the heart of the city at the beginning of next month. I will be living in a tiny apartment on top of an indian food restaurant. The sounds of my neighbor's t.v. drifting through the thin walls will become my new closest companion. 

I'm looking forward to a lot of changes though. I will be within walking distance of Dia, so we will be able to spend a lot more sister time together. I'll be surrounded by inspiring and creative artists of all types (all of whom I hope will help to inspire my music and my jewelry), and I'll be much closer to my friends. 

But, and this is a big BUT, my boyfriend will be missing a lot this year. He will be touring a lot and will be temporarily moving in with his band members for a time to a place two hours away from me. I know it seems like a two hour drive isn't that big of a deal. And I hate to complain when I'm sure so many of you are missing loved ones in a different country, but that doesn't mean I have to like my situation. What we all sacrifice for the sake of art...right?

Sometimes, when I'm alone in our house, when he leaves for band practice for a couple hours, I try to practice what it will be like when it's just me. I practice being spooked by wispy reflections in the mirrors and windows at night. I practice cooking for one: one egg, one cup of tea, one lonely piece of toast.

It's times like these, I think about my aerobics teacher with her tight floral leggings and her perky pony tail telling us "If you don't like it close your eyes." So I shut them tight.

In my guitar lesson today there was one little lick that I couldn't quite master. My teacher showed me a whole-step bend on the fretboard with my first finger. It HURT!

My guitar teacher said, "It's okay", smiled and gave my knee a paternal pat, "You're getting stronger."

I imagine when I'm laying in bed in my new apartment, as I settle in to fall asleep, I'll swat the empty space beside me and attempt to ignore the sirens and the artists' laughter in the street as they stumble home. I'll remember  

"Close your eyes if you don't like it." So I'll shut them tight.

When I wake I'll greet the soft hum of the t.v. from next door with a "Good morning" because my man will be off creating art on an avocado farm two hours away. I'll get dressed, turn the key in my lock, and as I leave I'll remember, "It's okay. You're getting stronger."

Honestly, Meg

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