Woke up at 9. Kissed and cuddled with kids for an hour. Fried eggs, sunny-side-up, for them and dh. Made coffee. Patiently waited for dh to get the hell away from the computer. Opened the yesterday's thread and started reading it backwards ( as I always do, to see what I'd missed)
Something happened. Everyone's flailing and extatic. My blood starts boiling. Oh. Someone got their box set! The lady's name is
HAPPY, fcol! The thread has 44 pages.
43. 42... My skin's tingling. I'm exercising THE UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNTS OF ASCETISM at this point. I read EVERYONE'S post. I don't skip anything. Patience.
41, 40... I can't take it. I mean, I'm still young, but a heart attack doesn't sound so out of the realm right now. I love this HAPPY person already.
39, 38...my hands are shaking. I'm sweating.
Page 33. It was on page 33. I'll never forget that number in my life. The THANK YOUs. THE LYRICS.
I read. Every line at least twice. My eyes are wet. I'm embarrassed, what if dh comes in and sees me. I choke. Is this it? The emotional rollercoaster an artist and his art are supposed to provide? The catharsis? What is he doing to me? The words ART and ARTIST don't cover it anymore. What is he to me? It's not normal. I'm deeply moved and shaken to the core. I feel like I'm cheating.
I remember at this point how he said it would be worth the wait. New gush of tears. Oh, darling, darling, you sweet and lovely man! It's his fucking life and soul on the platter. His beautiful, talented and unique soul. Everything else seems unimportant. Trivial. His lyrics are brilliant. His thank yous make my heart clench. I hate myself for not knowing more words, more accurate words to describe this.
When I get the album, I'll be afraid to listen to it. I should get drunk first. Or get high. Or not do it alone. Adam Lambert is dangerous for me. I'm undone.
THANK YOU HAPPY SO VERY MUCH, YOU'RE ONE LUCKY GIRL AND YOU'VE TOUCHED MANY, MANY LIVES, JSYK
