the magic pill.

I am going to talk about being a woman for a second.
I hope this doesn’t make anyone feel too uncomfortable.
But, see, sometimes–no, every month, actually–I get these really bad cramps.
They’ve been so bad before, that I’ve considered going to the hospital.
Anyway, I told my magical doctor about this.
(It only took me about ten years of suffering to finally do this. Yes, I could have afforded to move quicker in this particular scenario)
Okay, so maybe she’s not exactly magical–at least not in the way a unicorn is–but the little pills she gives me certainly are.
Now, I take them every month and, man, the contrast is startling.
Not only am I not in pain anymore, but I feel so good.
Magical good.
Unicorn good.
And well, my point is that the desire to feel better when you’re in pain is powerful.
And sometimes–not always, but just sometimes–being in lovely, green Pennsylvania can feel like those cramps.
And Getting Away!can feel like those magical little pills.
New York City has felt like a magical little pill.
And please don’t tsk tsk tsk and shake your head and mention how running away is not the solution.
I didn’t run away.
I was here for a while.
I slept with my demons every night.
I woke up to them and told them to be quiet, first thing.
Well, sometimes I forgot to tell them to be quiet, and I’d listen to them.
And then I’d see my therapist, and she’d tell them to be quiet.
And I know I’ve mentioned this before; there’s nothing new about this, nothing shocking about a girl who wants to get away from pain.
I mean, who can’t see their reflection in that story, right?
But, there are days when being here is easy.
Lovely, even.
When I don’t have to tell the demons to be quiet, because the sound of my own joy and contentment is a louder, bigger thing anyway.
And then there are nights when I want the magic pill of getting away from here.
When I sing songs, not really because I want to, necessarily, but because I need to.
Right now.
I need to go write something that I can sing–something louder than the sound of this discontent.
And maybe it will sound like a sad song to you, but really?
Really, it’s the sound of feeling better.
It’s the sound of GETTING AWAY! when I can’t actually get away.
Twila Tharpe said something about how art is the only way one can run away from home without the actual act of leaving.
And I agree.
And right now, that’s a magic pill.
And I’m grateful for everyone of these magic pills I’m given.