My life is a soundtrack. I like to tell people that I have my own theme song playing as I walk, much like John Travolta did in Saturday Night Fever. In truth, it’s playing through the headphones I wear while … Continue reading
There are defining moments in everyone’s life. Generally speaking, these moments are too numerous to count, because doing one thing different in any particular instant, could change. . .everything. To be clear from the start, this little tidbit isn’t about regret or really about an experience. It’s just a re-memory that tumbles through my mind, every now and then, when the wind blows that certain scent of freshness, promising me that a cool rain will soon follow.
It was the biggest place I had ever rented on my own. . .and it was all mine. Finally, I felt “legit.” A set of twins in my college Senior Portfolio class (I was a junior at the time) had one and they produced the most spectacular photos. Apparently their senior year, they had let their studio go in lieu of purchasing some bad a$$ piece of camera equipment. I seized the moment! My opportunity had arrived.
I had my own studio. I use the word studio here loosely. But it was mine and it was beautiful and sexy and full of tremendous potential. I would do things with lights. . .have models pose for me – in costumes. . .yes costumes. None of those things actually happened. But it could have. . .it would have, if. . .well that’s another story.
Housed in the sort of artist type commune/junk yard/old rail car park were a number of buildings, rented by various “artist.” The buildings were colorful. The outer areas cluttered with metal works, painted crafts, care free gardens interspersed between the skeletons of old cars re-purposed for the purpose of ART. . .you know the usual kind of thing one would expect the truly creative to have hanging outside their creative Sanctum of Solitude.
There was no such finery outside of mine. There was a door and in front of said door was cracked asphalt with grass surreptitiously creeping through. It was an old wooden 6 panel door and blue. . .my door was a blue door. As soon as you walked in you were faced with a set of stairs leading up to a huge wooden platform. It was too cool for words (at least to me). You could smell the creativity in the air. . .or maybe it was old paint thinner soaked rags, left by the prior tenant, combined with a certain dankness (tomato to-MA-to). There was no insulation in the walls. The beams were all exposed. There was actually a toilet (yes it worked), out in the open on the top of one side of the split level plat form.
This never really made sense to me, the toilet being up top and exposed. Especially when there was clearly enough space and head room to put it underneath the first and second level platform, since that was allegedly a changing room. Perhaps the original inhabitant thought of it as amusing. . .Sitting atop of his/her world on a throne looking over all he/she surveyed. . .and like me, thinking, that it was all theirs. But c’mon! A toilet. . .not even I would. . .Oh wait. I kind of liked the toilet up top. Sigh. It was quirky. . .I was quirky. And hey, it did have a pretty good view.
Looking from the toilet, you were a good 14 feet above the ground, with perfect sight to the front door and the platforms. Above the toilet, you had another 10 feet, easy, of head space. The windows would let in the most amazing light during the day, perfect for natural light photography (that soft satiny kind of diffused sunlight). I’d come here after and in between classes just to sit. Sometimes it would rain and it would tinker across the metal roof. There was no real form of heat in the space, so it was never warm enough. Heck the only light was from a large tin light, with a single 60 watt bulb, hanging from the ceiling – not nearly enough light for the space at night. But that was okay. Because that space. . .for that time. . .was mine.
Take 20 minutes to free write they said. Dangerous games, they play (in my Yoda voice). Little do they know the battle with my inner fat gurl has kicked in after hanging out with my PHAT gurl for lunch at the gym. By the way, I KILLED the gym today. I tried a new ab workout. It was. . .yes, KILLER! I have the bruises to prove it. Although I am fairly certain, bruises were not the gains I should have been expecting.
But alas, such was my lot this afternoon. So what was the routine? It was called MedBall Suicide. Creepy I know, but it looks rather beastly (in the sexy sort of way) when executed. So it’s 3 to 4 sets of the following: 1 arm medicine ball roll (kind of like an ab roller exercise with a medicine ball, but only using one hand to roll all the way up one arm until you are parallel to the floor. Check it out the MedBall Suicide Superset via Instagram since it’s so difficult to describe.
Needless to say I felt like my Beast Mode was turned up past 10. So I decided to work out my legs a bit because. . .well let’s face it, I want to have one of those butts that make people want to reach out and touch it/pay homage to it, but they won’t because they have respect for my personal space and privacy. I know I know, such a contradiction. But that’s okay because this is all stream of conscious for 20 minutes, no wait. . .I almost lost track of time. I must write for another 10 minutes.
So here’s the deal, I have written more post today than I have throughout my experience blogging. Okay maybe not that many, but it’s pretty darn close. At this rate I might have a blog worth tracking/following or what have you (squeeeee!) Yes. I just squeeed. If you don’t know what squeeing is, you have not lived until something has made you “SQUEE.”
I’m hungry. I had about 1 ounce of American cheese. It was soooooooooo yummy! It’s almost time for me to finish marinating dinner. For those non pork lovers, I do apologize. But yes, the other white meat is on the menu tonight. I lovely thick center cut pork chop with the bone in. Oh the things I will do to that meat tonight. . .in the kitchen. . .on the grill. I’ll serve it with some sauteed spinach, sweet corn (for the hubby), and a sweet potato (for me).
Of course the hubby is not feeling up to par. He has had a sore throat that kept him up most of the night and into the morning. Poor guy. I, on the other hand, did not. Through sleep heavy lids, I’d see him playing on his iPad. When I asked why he was still up he’d point to his throat. A good wife would have made hims some tea. . .I wish I had thought of that while I was half sleep. But to my credit I did check on him once he passed out. I also made sure he was up for work. I even made him some tea after I had laid out his uniform. Seeeeeeeeee! I am a good wife. . .I’m even better when I’m awake or had a proper nap.
Oh look at the time. It’s almost up. The joy. . .the elation. You have no idea. As soon as I hit publish, I am going to the kitchen to eat. . .something. More cheese? More carrots? Mmmmmm. . .protein. The body wants protein. Maybe a leg from the rotissiere chicken I bought to make chicken salad yesterday. Oooh. I think I have my stomach’s attention with that idea. On that note dear readers and Writing 101 classmates, hasta luego!