This is where the work really starts.
Rehearsal was good. I sang for 5 hours straight. My voice feels great. The drummer and guitarist met for the first time, the chemistry is fantastic. The songs are rough, but they’re taking shape. We have the magic.
It’s 5:30am. I finished rehearsal at 3:30. I’m broke, I’m cold, and the sun will rise any moment. I’m waiting. Waiting for the bus to my new (super cheap) room in Jersey. In jersey, where buses don’t run at night. Where you don’t carry valuables or make eye contact with strangers.
I don’t have a job, or a car, savings, or credit. But I have a cozy bed, a home with fellow musicians, who are kind and loyal. I have an amazing place to rehearse, to write and record music. I have my first band. I have a dream, and the time to invest to make it real.
I won’t deny it’s a struggle. There are some days I can’t eat. Sometimes I feel so much less of a woman because my nails are chipped, my knuckles are scraped, my lipstick is smeared and my hair wild and awkward in its dishevelment. Does money buy beauty? Sometimes I feel it does.
But I can’t afford those trappings right now… I’m too busy wailing out the years of memories stuck in my soul yearning to come forth in form of song or word or scream. I can’t
be bothered to conform to someone else’s norm just yet… Not when the muse inside me has finally decided to break free.