Some days went well, some didn’t. Some days sucked. Hard. Like today. Getting up had been a pain. She was still sore from yesterday’s yoga session. The first she’d done to in months. Wasn’t even a class, not really. Not with students, at least not anywhere next to her. Just a video on YouTube. She’d wanted to stop, even paused the video and almost closed the tab. Changed her mind when she considered how she would feel later if she bailed midway through.
The backs of her legs ached, her core hurt, her lower back felt like it couldn’t settle right. Or maybe now it was right, after the yoga, and that’s why it felt off. Paul was at work and she was supposed to be working on her latest song. But the music wasn’t flowing today, not much of anything was. She slogged her way into the kitchen, opened the fridge, poked around, opened cabinets, searching for something to eat. There was all kinds of food, but nothing sounded good. At least not until she spotted the graham crackers and remembered there were marshmallows somewhere, probably behind the cans of beans and tomato sauce. Ah, yeah, nice, half full and…Yep, still soft. What about chocolate? Oh, in the freezer there was still half a bar of that super dark stuff Paul liked.
The gas stove wasn’t a campfire and a fork wasn’t a stick, but it’d work. Once the marshmallow was crispy she mushed the glob of sugary goo onto a broken piece of chocolate. Sandwiched between the half-stale cracker it looked amazing. Smelled good too. She told herself this would help. A little sugar rush was just the pick-me-up she needed. Yeah, that’s what you want to believe. Too bad you know it’s total shit. One bite and you’re going to wonder what in the hell you were thinking. Why not throw this mess away and finish that leftover veggie lasagna? Because I don’t want veggie lasagna, that’s why.
Curled up on the couch, treat in hand, she turned the TV on and began flipping channels. Ten minutes passed before she found something not too painful to stare at. A Russian game show. Plate back in hand, ready to dig in, the door opened.
“Hey, babe, just me.”
"Home? Now? Wh-why so soo”—she took a bite.
“Super slow. The holiday and all, they let me go early…What’s that?”
“Shmare.” She tried swallowing.
Paul laughed. “Uh-huh. Why’re you eating a s’more?”
She spat the rest of her bite out. “I don’t know. Sounded good. It tastes like butt.”
“Hey, come on, what’s going on?” he sat next to her.
And she told him. Broke down telling him how the music wasn’t flowing. It was silent in her head and it hurt, it hurt so bad.
“We’ll find it. I’ll help you. But I don’t think it’s in a s’more.”