M and craving
Last night I went to practice piano at the studio where I've been taking lessons. I've been going there for almost one year, also studying harpsichord.
It was Friday night and I desperately needed to get in some practice.
Friday, while the city buzzed all around me. New students looking for the action in the drizzly city lights.
I haven't been going out much lately. I was hanging out with my new man a lot, but we've been separately busy. Plus, he moved to Providence, but tries to stay in Boston as much as possible because this is where his film/life is. So, I've had the last two weekends mostly to myself. I've been trying to get work done. A majority of what he and I talk about is work.
We like the "Arbeit Macht Frei" concept.
Work makes you free; work makes you good and worth something.
I showed up at Studio 44 roughly 45 minutes before closing. The night watchman/elevator man hates me because I often stay until the last minute. I have no piano at home but he wants to go home on his motorbike.
For the first time, though, my fingers craved playing that piano more. I became very depressed when I had to leave. The sounds coming out of that Mason & Hamlin piano had been soothing me. I was truly enjoying my practice when I had to be ripped away like a mandrake root.
I was wondering what was wrong with me and to where my blissful mood of yore (even a few hours previous) had disappeared, when I bumped into a friend of a friend I met once right around the same time I started getting involved with Warren. She was a friend of an old roommate from when I lived in Allston Rock City.
She approached me at Park Street station. I wouldn't have noticed her otherwise. It was crowded and I was preoocupied. The busker was playing a depressing song by Oasis that wasn't helping.
Turns out she was feeling like crap too. We discussed Klonipin and Paxil. Her depression has triggered IBS. She's 27. She's so beautiful and friendly. It was hard to believe what was coming out of her mouth about how she felt about her life.
We had a friendly exchange, or sohbet.
I went home to write out a cello part for rehearsal today. Hope I did it right.
I had actually hoped to make it to NYC this weekend, but...there is work to be done here.
It was Friday night and I desperately needed to get in some practice.
Friday, while the city buzzed all around me. New students looking for the action in the drizzly city lights.
I haven't been going out much lately. I was hanging out with my new man a lot, but we've been separately busy. Plus, he moved to Providence, but tries to stay in Boston as much as possible because this is where his film/life is. So, I've had the last two weekends mostly to myself. I've been trying to get work done. A majority of what he and I talk about is work.
We like the "Arbeit Macht Frei" concept.
Work makes you free; work makes you good and worth something.
I showed up at Studio 44 roughly 45 minutes before closing. The night watchman/elevator man hates me because I often stay until the last minute. I have no piano at home but he wants to go home on his motorbike.
For the first time, though, my fingers craved playing that piano more. I became very depressed when I had to leave. The sounds coming out of that Mason & Hamlin piano had been soothing me. I was truly enjoying my practice when I had to be ripped away like a mandrake root.
I was wondering what was wrong with me and to where my blissful mood of yore (even a few hours previous) had disappeared, when I bumped into a friend of a friend I met once right around the same time I started getting involved with Warren. She was a friend of an old roommate from when I lived in Allston Rock City.
She approached me at Park Street station. I wouldn't have noticed her otherwise. It was crowded and I was preoocupied. The busker was playing a depressing song by Oasis that wasn't helping.
Turns out she was feeling like crap too. We discussed Klonipin and Paxil. Her depression has triggered IBS. She's 27. She's so beautiful and friendly. It was hard to believe what was coming out of her mouth about how she felt about her life.
We had a friendly exchange, or sohbet.
I went home to write out a cello part for rehearsal today. Hope I did it right.
I had actually hoped to make it to NYC this weekend, but...there is work to be done here.
posted by Ajda the Turkish Queen at 11:28 AM
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