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Sing Sunday, June 15, 2008

Posted by Grace in eating crackers in bed.
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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.

Bunny Hug Friday, May 9, 2008

Posted by Grace in blue doves.
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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.

 

Fixation Monday, May 5, 2008

Posted by Grace in eating crackers in bed.
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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

81 Hours Monday, April 28, 2008

Posted by Grace in eating crackers in bed, graceisms.
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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

Ten Days Friday, April 25, 2008

Posted by Grace in eating crackers in bed.
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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.

Finish Line Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Posted by Grace in strange days.
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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.

Three Months Sunday, April 6, 2008

Posted by Grace in strange days.
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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!

Slogan Generator Monday, March 31, 2008

Posted by Grace in strange days.
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The Advertising Slogan Generator – 10 0z sent me this link today.

What you do: Type your name or another word in, press the sloganize button, and get your own personal slogan.

Here are some of the ones I thought were interesting:

Nobody Better Lay a Finger on My Grace – This one made me think of the boys. They’re so protective, and I’ve been present in more than one instance to witness conversations including the phrases What are your intentions with our Grace? and You better treat her right or you’ll have us to contend with.

Kids Will Do Anything for Grace – Only because in day to day life, it is not unusual to end up with children I’ve never met before approaching me to play or ask a question. There are some people out there that kids are just magnetized to, and I suppose I’m one of them.

Have You Forgotten How Grace Tastes? – Right… that’s just weird. How do I taste? lol

Happiness is Grace-Shaped – This one was my favorite. A person will have a hell of a time being happy unless they are alright with themselves being happy. You can have a life with all of the ingredients for happiness, but unless you’ll allow yourself to be, that happiness will elude. Your happiness is shaped like you. Even if I’m wrong, which I am liable to be, it would still be cool to be the shape of happiness, don’t you think?

If you were a commodity, what would your slogan be?
Song of the Day: Building a Religion – Cake

Love Me Tender: In the Days of Melting Snow Saturday, March 29, 2008

Posted by Grace in eating crackers in bed.
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Fearless lives in very close proximity to a large church.

On Sundays it is near impossible to get parking anywhere nearby.

I don’t know what was going on yesterday afternoon (wedding? baptism?), but there was no open parking down his road, just back to back parked cars. I turned and weaved my way through winding side roads that generally have some open spaces, with little luck. I found a tiny little spot between cars, and was rather pleased with the fact that I drive a tiny little car that would fit.

Being a born and raised country bumpkin, I’m used to people having drive ways. Used to lots of available parking space, and free parking at that. As it happens, Fearless is a matter of blocks away from downtown.

It was snowing, but hovering around zero, so as soon as the snow landed, it pretty much melted. Not yet having transitioned to a waterproof spring jacket, I was still wearing a heavy, non-waterproof, wooly jacket. The long walk didn’t go together with lack of waterproofing very well, and by the time I got too his doorstep, I was pretty soaked.

Sad little person I must have seemed, wet hair, sopping jacket, teeth chattering when he answered the door. He unbuttoned my jacket for me and took it to hang on a chair close to the fireplace to dry. I went to the hall closet and got a towel to get some of the excess wetness out of my hair.

While I was smoothing it down with my fingers, trying to avoid as much as possible the fluffy texture my hair likes to take on, he came down the hall with a bunny hug of his, knowing I would still be shakily cold. When I get chilled like that it sticks with me for quite a while, and I’ll shiver and shake until I warm back up.

I pulled on the bunny hug, marvelling once again to myself how small I feel next to him. The waistband was more than half way to my knees, sleeves extending way past my shivery fingers. It was perfect, soft and warm. But even better, it felt safe, smelling like that pretty mixture of old spice and cedar and himself that I love to breathe in.

As I rolled up the sleeves, hands reappearing, he told me to get out of my wet socks. You’ll catch cold. And anyway, you’re leaving little wet footprints everywhere.

I wiggled my way out of my mismatched sopping socks and threw them in the laundry. I’d steal a pair of his when I went home.

He led me back to the living room. My soggy shoes were in front of the fireplace, as was my jacket hung over a chair brought in from the dining room.

Then he did the perfect thing, got me down on the couch and nestled up behind me. Broad chest and shoulders like a shield, an envelope I fit into just right. Through the fuzzy fabric of the bunny hug, I could feel when he breathed. One arm was a place to rest my head, and the other came across my side. Muscle and bone not resting too hard, but transferring enough weight and pressure to feel their strength and protection. His big hands swallowed mine up, transferring over their heat. He’d had a day off, and so avoided shaving because it wasn’t compulsory, and the stubble touching my cheek wasn’t too prickly or tickle-y, it was just another layer of texture.

To think you said you weren’t one to cuddle I breathed into the warm air.

He shushed me and replied For you, anything.

(I know, I’m being super smushy. I just couldn’t help myself.)

Song of the Day: Love Me Tender – Elvis Presley