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The Week That Killed My Print Journal

GrobAngel's picture
on November 21, 2010 - 1:07pm

The following is taken from GrobAngel's personal journals:

November 15, 3-something a.m. Can't sleep at all, but it's nothing I didn't expect. I'm too excited about getting Illuminations and going to the signing at Barnes and Noble. (As much as I'd love to see Good Morning America, I have to keep my priorities in order. It'd be more meaningful to meet him than to see another concert and not.) As I wait until I can get up without disturbing anyone, I think about what I have to do to get ready for today. Is my hair washed and deep-conditioned? Is everything I want to wear (green blouse, J Brand jeans) clean? Can I find the necklace I chose for today? Is everything I need for today - snacks, phone, stuff to read, journal, school stuff - in my bag? The answer to all those questions is yes.

November 15, 5:45 a.m. On the train to New York and willing this thing to go faster. I would have been on the 5:07, but I got too distracted trying to get my digital downloads on my iPhone. I hope this won't cause me to be in the back of a line that wraps around to Madison Avenue.

November 15, 6:40 a.m. Talk about worrying for nothing - I'm about tenth in line! A bit chilly, though. I don't want Josh to shake a frozen hand.

November 15, 10:30 a.m. Yes! We're inside! Illuminations is playing throughout the store, and I'm not far from where the table is set up. Nothing left to do but try to think of something good to say - otherwise I'll just stare dumbly or say, "You sing good. Me likey."

November 15, 10:55 a.m. I just heard a familiar voice, and it wasn't over the store's stereo. I've been to two other signings, but this has still gotten my heart racing. I can practically see my necklace going up and down.

November 15, 11:20 a.m. I want to write, but I just keep pausing. Staring into space. Looking at my right hand and thinking of who just touched it. Remembering.
My turn came so fast. Somehow I came up with something to say and actually got it out: "I've been looking forward to this for months. I'm so glad to see you." He appreciated that and signed my CD. As I started to get lost in those brown eyes, he asked me where I was from. I told him, adding that I got up at four to be here today. He told me to get some sleep. Before I stepped away, I told him I'd see him on Thursday. (I can't believe I got the tickets, and such good ones too - fourth row orchestra!)
My racing heart has slowed down. Now it feels full to the brim with joy and love.

November 18, ten-something p.m. Did that really just happen? Was I really awake for this?
For several reasons, this "Before We Begin" concert was unlike any show I've ever been to. The sound is one reason. I'm used to going to these things and seeing a big orchestra, but tonight it was just Tariq and Mark. Some of these songs were very stripped down, but this didn't mess with the quality in any way.
No show I've ever been to has included breaks for questions. Some were silly, some were interesting. At one point, I got a really bad idea: There's a Family Guy episode where the Star Trek cast does a Q&A, and audience members ask the cast about inane things like household sponges and dry skin. I considered asking one of those questions - Josh would probably get the joke.
I didn't do it, because shortly after that HE asked US a question: Were there any couples in the audience that had been together for a long time? I was there with my husband. We've only been married for two years, but we had seven years together before that. I said, "Nine years." Josh heard that, saw me (a graduate student in her twenties) and my husband of the same age, and invited us onstage.
As we sat on the couch with another couple and next to a whole family, Josh sang "Broken Vow" and "War at Home."
The last thing I said to him on Monday was, "I'll see you on Thursday." I saw him more closely than I could ever have imagined. And he saw me.
I'm sure my hair was a mess, and my makeup was probably starting to wear off. But I feel nothing but radiant.
Back in my seat for the encore, I whispered, "Don't wake up...don't wake up" to myself. My husband assured me I wasn't dreaming. He hadn't been overly excited about the concert, but even he couldn't be blase about this. He joked that we should have brought a host gift to the living room set ("Next time we'll bring cheese"), and said these smaller shows are more fun than the big ones.
This is going to make such a story, but will anyone believe me?

November 20, 9 p.m. Just sitting on my couch, drinking wine, watching a movie, and thinking about what a week this was. Monday filled up the remaining pages in one journal, and Thursday took up two and a half pages (front and back) in a new one.
Sitting here, I keep thinking of another couch I sat on. They chose well for the living room set; that couch was pretty comfortable. I have half a mind to call Town Hall and see where it came from. It'd make a good conversation piece and act as a constant reminder of that magic night.

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