It's been a long two months since I moved to L.A. I left everything behind. My family, my boyfriend, my job, my friends, my life... all in hopes of finding something that could fill this creative side that has been suppressed by the never ending sales calls.
I just couldn't take it anymore--the grey cubical, the nine to five hours, the stale coffee fermenting in the crusty pots , the gloomy faces, the left over birthday cake molding in the break room, and the boredom and the boredom and the boredom. I can't... I can't... I can't! So I did the only thing I could. I ran. I ran as fast as I could from Georgia to the other side of the world. Los Angeles. This is where I could find my real self. The self that loves to create. The self that needed release from the torture of the nine to five.
But I miss everything back home... I miss the warm, strong, hugs. I miss the smells of my mom's fireplace. I miss my friends and their quirky habits. But I'm not close to any of those things. Nothing. Only the emptiness created from the long miles from my home. It's been weeks that I've felt like this. I have to get rid of it. I have to escape. So I do what can take me there. Away from this lonely feeling. I plop down on the cloth swivel chair and roll across the glazed hardwood floors toward my piano. It offers what I desire. An escape. My fingers seem to move on their own as I discover the notes that match my mood. My loneliness disappers. It seems to float into the air. The notes carry it all off my chest and I sing and I sing and I sing. A song is formed. The emptiness is gone. The loneliness has slipped away. I feel good. I feel high. I feel like a different person. I love it.