A Bed and a Guitar

I'm writing this post lying on the floor on my stomach in an empty room aside from a few bloated cardboard boxes and an ikea floor lamp. Nick is prancing through our empty apartment spraying spritzes of one of his homemade "natural", "essential" oil mixes. The window is open. I'm staring at startling greenery (for Austin at this time of year. Thank you spring rain!) and smelling hints of lavender and evergreen. Nick opens the door, peeks his head through, and asks me, "What are you doing in this empty room on the floor?" I give him the same glance I give to everyone when they interrupt me when I'm either writing a song or a blog post. My eyebrows come together and do a little dance and my lower lip puckers outward. "I'm writing a blog!" I wine in an effort to exaggerate the fact that I'd like some time alone. "Well, why you gotta do it in here?" "Because there is music out there, and it's calm in here." "Well, it was", I think to myself. He gives me one of his "looks" and then turns and walks away. I couldn't help thinking about what I knew he was thinking as he continued with the finishing touches on our apartment: "God, why am I dating a "creative", artist, hippie chick with extremely irritating dietary requirements? I should have listened to my mother and stuck with Anne back in high school. Yeah, she had a boring hair cut, but all of her meals were loaded with butter and sugar, and she would never EVER pay more attention to a blog than ME…"

Yes, we are in the midst of packing and moving. I can't wait for the day when I can stop this "packing and moving" bit. It's tiring and dull.

I spoke to my mother today and raved about Nick being the "Craigslist King"! You guys should have heard him wheeling and dealing on the phone, "What?! $75.00 without the wooden slats? What am I supposed to do with wooden slats with no matching head board! No, I will not accept that measly amount for a mattress! You want ME to deliver it to WHERE?!"

 I usually try to coax his blood pressure down after one of these conversations with one of my oats, dried berries, and ground flax-seed meal concoctions, but I gotta tell ya, his mood just doesn't revive the way it used to when I used to butter him up with  "fresh-out-of-the-oven" milk chocolate brownies lathered with sinful chocolate frosting.

My mother gave me the gift of health for my birthday, paying for my attendance to the "Engine 2 Immersion" that took place this past weekend in Austin. The event took place on "Boggy Farm", the oldest organic farm in the nation. Fresh fruits and exotic vegetables sprouted from the ground in vibrant green rows. The owner, Leanne, hoed and watered alongside our large tent, while speakers educated us on the wonders of the Dinosaur Kale and the horrid "national fad" of coconut products.

"Boggy Creek Farm" in Austin, Texas

I am thankful for the knowledge I have soaked up over the past two days. I tell Nick how strange I feel when I am the youngest person at all of these health conventions and jewelry conventions I attend. I tell him that because I started touring at 18, I went from 18, toured for 7 years, and didn't continue being a mid-twenties person, but passed right through that stop and headed straight for the 50's and 60's station. Here I am learning about blood pressure levels and cholesterol levels and wire-wrapping jewelry. (Nick really is a brave man…)

I'm turning 27 tomorrow. I had a strange and powerful urge to buy french-manicured nails for myself for my birthday. I'm not sure why I have always wanted them. I just think they are so beautiful, and I love the "clicky" sound they make when a woman at the grocery store with long nails tallies up my grocery bill. "Nice day today." Click, click, click. "You makin' a salad bar?" Click, click, click.

I asked Nick what he thought about me having longer nails. Whenever I ask him about what he thinks about a new haircut or some sort of physical change, he always says he likes me the way I am. That's what I like about him. I sat on his lap, while he reluctantly slashed a few prices on a washer and dryer still for sale on his laptop. "Babe," I began in a soft voice, "What do you think about me getting some of those long nails?" He would have seen my eyelashes flutter if he had only looked away from his computer screen for a few moments. "Huh? Well, ya know, I don't really mind one way or another." Wait for it…" They seem to be a bit in the way though, and also an unnecessary expense. How are you going to play your guitar?"

Hmm? What guitar. I peeked over my shoulder. Oh, I guess my guitar was here in my room the whole time. One of my last possessions to be packed.  Maybe I didn't want to notice it laying there. Maybe I haven't been ready to see it quite yet, not after playing it every day for three months straight. "Actually, I hate long nails. No. Don't do it.  I'm against them. Why would you do that to yourself!"I knew he would come around.

Maybe I should pick up my guitar today and tinker around a bit in between cleaning out the pantry and vacuuming these empty rooms…or maybe I should wait a few more days.

Goodbye Austin.

Honestly,
Meg