I know this is probably really old news for some people, but I have fallen in love with something I thought I never would.

That’s right: a video game.

Beautiful Katamari for the 36o.

Basically, you are the Prince, this tiny little guy who rolls up balls of stuff to recreate celestial bodies that have been destroyed by a black hole. The black hole was created by a particularly strong tennis serve by the King of All Cosmos that ripped space a new one.

As you go along, picking up small items, such as candy and matchsticks, your katamari gets larger, it’s gravitational force increasing, allowing you to roll up larger items. Eventually you’re rolling up thermoses, gorillas, sumo wrestlers, buses, high rises, giant squid, islands, continents and the world!

Why I like it: It’s easy. Most video games I have tried out require a lot more button mashing, whereas this one is like driving a tank. You have two toggle bars and you direct them where you want to go. Also, it’s colorful. Like 60’s-acid-trip colorful. But it’s that dash of whimsy randomness that I’ve fallen in love with. You’re a little tiny prince rolling up whatever you come across: pieces of sushi, fires, cows. The King of All Cosmos says funny things.

I’ve heard say that it’s Sony predecessors may be of a slightly higher quality in the areas of attention to detail and quality of environment. Anybody have any thoughts?

I just thought I should say, if you haven’t tried it, it’s a lot of fun. I’m not much of one for video games, but I’ve become a little addicted.

How big of a katamari can you roll?

My father was a man in the old classical sense. Tall, broad shouldered, a man of few words, but words well said. He loved to be outdoors, to work with his hands, to be able to fix things and understand how they worked. His father died young, and leaving his mom (my grandmother) and two sisters, so he had a strong sense of needing to be there and provide for his family.

My mom tells stories about how when my brother and I were babies he was always scared that he would break us, so small and fragile in his large, calloused hands. That when we were still pretty brand new he would carry us like little footballs.

The last time I saw him, he came into my bedroom and woke me up. I was confused because it was still dark out. He hugged me and told me he loved me, tucked me back in and got up to leave.

My five-year-old mind was confused, I asked where he was going.

He told me that he was going away. Away to work? I asked. He didn’t answer.

I asked if I could come with him. He came back, sat down on the edge of the bed, and said, No, you can’t come with me Grace.

He stayed for a moment, kissed my forehead, and adjusted the covers. He would always adjust the covers after tucking me in because his strong hands would tuck me in too tight.

I remember hearing the click of my bedroom door closing after he left, the footsteps down the hallway, and after that it goes blank. I must have fallen back asleep. The next thing I remember is sitting in the basement watching The Land Before Time, and my mom coming downstairs and asking if I knew where he was.

Dad, I sometimes still wonder what would have happened if I had been more insistent, if I had tried harder to come with you. A part of me feels you would still be here if I hadn’t confusedly just let you leave. That you couldn’t have done what you did if you had me there, or if you had lingered a little longer with me.

The majority of the time I had with you, I was too young to remember. Still I miss you a lot on days like today.

Fearless sings.

Growing up, he did years with choirs and formal training. He doesn’t do anything too formal with it anymore, but he still sings. He sings in the car. He sings in the kitchen when we wash dishes together. Little snatches of lyrics from songs passing through his head. Things he heard on the radio, songs he loves, words that go with the moment.

He’s got this voice. One of those that seems bigger than the person who produces it. Low and just a little gravelly, with a certain dark strength that crashes over you. Sometimes it gives me chills.

I’ve been known to sing a lot. But something about his being trained, his talent, makes me nervous singing with or around him.

He’s commented on it, that it’s not fair that he knows I belt when I’m driving, that I sing in the shower; but that I get nervous and clam up when he’s there to hear it. There’s just something about knowing that he’s got perfect pitch on his side, and that he knows when you’re making the mistakes that gets me. And it’s strange, because with most things, a little bit of nerves will not stop me.

Yesterday, the moment was right. I had just arrived at his house, he had stepped out of the shower perhaps a minute or two before. His hair was still wet, he hadn’t made it into a shirt yet, and you could still smell traces of his soap. He hugged me, and it just kind of started.

He held me and I sang. It wasn’t for long, it wasn’t very good (but then a person is always their worst critic). But I could see in his eyes he appreciated the gesture, and now that I’ve started, it doesn’t seem like such a big deal.

You’re warm and soft

And perfect to snuggle into

You pick up the essence of

The people you spend time with

When a the surface of a person

Meets and becomes air

You scoop up those molecules

And hold them tight

So that when I hold you tight

He’s palpably present

Like he’s there.

One thing that people oft point out to me is my tendency to end up with things in my mouth.

Studying, almost classically, I am found with two writing utensils, one in hand and one between my lips. You always bring two in case one stops working, but it’s rare that that happens, and the extra ends up in my mouth. I used to chew my fingernails pretty hardcore when I was younger. That bad habit has been kicked long ago, thank goodness. But once again, hands up by my mouth. As well, I’m a foodie. There’s always something someone wants you to taste. And in the interim, there is always gum.

Fearless is returned (yay!!). And yesterday morning, after looking at the million pictures he took of work stuff, we watched a movie, Run Fatboy Run. We curled up on the couch, loosely spooning. At one point, he brought his hand up and traced my jawline, slow and soft. Back and forth, chin to ear.

And somehow or other, I’m not sure because I wasn’t really thinking of it, I ended up with his forefinger in my mouth. Not far, between the first and second knuckles, but still there.

Like I said, I wasn’t really thinking about it, but he eventually piped up and pouted with a laugh It’s not nice to tease.

He said it because I had his finger in my mouth, and it’s not that it was just there, but that I was in fact teasing, though it wasn’t intentional. Still, there was that touch of the tongue, little bit of suction, that lets you get full on the taste and texture of another person.

Orally fixated? Maybe a little. The movie was soon to be shut off.

He’s a lucky man.

Song of the Day: Angel - Massive Attack

I’m used to not sleeping, really I am.

I have been awake for 81 hours (and 17 minutes, but who’s counting?)

A lot of people don’t believe you if and when you tell them that you don’t sleep. They think you choose to stay up, that you just don’t sleep a lot, but really, when I say that I’m not sleeping, I mean I really don’t get anything that really resembles quality sleep.

Sometimes it’s better than others, ha most of the time is better than right now, my body starts making decisions that I don’t get a choice in. No Grace, you’re getting some sleep right now, I know you’re scared and that it’s not going to last long at all, but I’m going to get mutinous if you don’t.

And I can’t stop myself from falling asleep, even though it’s gotten to such a scary point for me. Fearless told me that it’s beautiful when I actually do sleep.  That I curl up, snuggle in, against him in a way that makes him wonder how I can have that much of myself in contact with him.

Some time passes. 15 minutes, 5, almost immediately. And that’s when it all goes to hell.

It helps when he’s there, he talks me down, holds on to me and makes sure I know everything will be fine.

But now, no, my body is not making these decisions. There is no Sleep, Now signal. Or maybe it’s trying to, but I’ve actually sunk deeper into this sleep issue, and have scared it out of those instincts too.

He left me a bunny hug, one he had spent almost two days in. It was supposed to help. It’s big and warm and smells like him. When he gave it to me, he laughed and said Three things you enjoy about me.

It doesn’t smell like him anymore, it just smells like my bed. And though it’s big and warm, it’s not big and warm like him. You can’t curl up around a bunny hug. I’m pretty sure the point was more so having something comforting from him there when hell broke loose, but I haven’t had the chance yet to see how effective it is.

I just want this to stop.

Song of the Day: Asleep - The Smiths

Fearless is gone for ten days.

Ten days isn’t long, not long at all.

So many people are separated so much longer.

I am not saying that ten days is at all the same.

Still, I dropped him off 0540 this morning.

I dropped him off so his car wouldn’t be left there.

And there was that bit of sad silence.

Neither one of us wanting to say anything.

Hearing and acknowledging the words would make the ten days stretch, seem longer.

I yielded, parked amongst the bank of vehicles.

Unlatched the trunk, he let me carry the smallest of his bags.

He planned, and wanted, to carry them all; he knew I would feel better helping.

Remembering yesterday’s conversation, I had to ask You packed extra socks?

He laughed.

Already, the change in him was evident. His posture, the way he looked around, you could see he was in his work headspace.

We approached another bank of vehicles. Different this time, bigger, all the same shade of green.

We stopped. His fingers traced their way down my arm, he took the bag.

I’ll call if we’re on the grid. If not, I’ll call on the drive back.

A few more moments, and he was gone.

Ten days is not long. It is almost nothing. Still, whenever they leave, there is that indescribable finality of it all.

I’m back! As of today, I have finished classes and exams for this semester.

Well, kind of…

All but one of my exams has been written. That exam was scheduled for the 15th, but by some kind of fluke, this University student can’t seem to read a simple chart properly.

Being as much of a keen student as I tend to be, I had checked the exam schedule somewhat obsessively. It was written down in my day planner, on the calendar in the kitchen, and on the back of my hand. Organic Chemistry - April 15th 1330.

I got to campus early, the plan being to meet some friends who’d be writing with me for the frantic last minute studying that always seems to precede difficult exams. I got to our regular meeting place, took a seat on a comfy couch, and cracked my books. It was odd though, time being 1100, that I was still alone.

I sent out a mass text message, asking if people were going to come up to the student lounge to study.

No replies.

I started to get that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was up. Trying to put my mind off of it, I got out my laptop and went to the obsessively checked bookmark that was the exam schedule. I wanted to make sure I knew the seat numbers we would be sitting in at the hall.

1-95. And then I saw it, one column over: April 15, 0900. <Insert heart attack here>

My cell phone buzzed, my lab partner replied: Grace, we just wrote the exam. What are you talking about?

I booked it to the examination hall, the writing period already almost over. My prof looked surprised to see someone entering the room. We went out to the hallway, and I explained my critical mistake.

My hands were shaking, my breathing was fast. If I didn’t write this exam, I wouldn’t finish with the mark I needed to use it as a prerequisite. If I didn’t write this exam, my GPA would be effected. It was a great big circle of panicked thoughts running through my head.

The professor, very much the eccentric, frizzy haired chemist, said, It’s almost noon. People have already left the hall. I can’t let you write this exam.

<Insert second heart attack here>

I’ll just write you a note to go to the Faculty and get on the list for the deferral. You really need to be more careful about these things.

So now, by a fluke misreading of the chart, I have another whole month to study for this exam. In one light, this is great, the extra study time is much appreciated, but in another, this is going to be looming for another whole month, when it could be off my back already.

C’est la vie.

Today is the three month anniversary here at Repeat the Sounding Joy!

So far, we’ve had a total of 1697 views, and 62 posts (not including this one).

So sorry for not posting anything lately, finals are impending and all of my time has been going to studying. I’ll be back to regular posting within the next week or so, but I’ll still be around checking in and maybe dropping a post or two.

Hope all is well in your corners of the world!