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Screak: a screeching squeak

Posted by on July 24, 2006

Two nights ago I slept face to face with the stars for the first time. After a long day splashing around in the east’s 106 degree temperature, the night cooled off to a manageable 100 or so and I slept out in the hammock with the Lad nearby on a palliasse of pool mats. He gave me a swing to tuck me in and the hammock emitted a cacophonous screak; never one to be overcome by life’s rude mechanicals, he was in the garage for the oil can and back out to silence the hammock in no time. I spent the half hour before falling asleep wrapped in the pleasantly metallic scent of WD-40, the smell of being loved by the Lad.

My dreamscape has changed considerably since the Lad and I re-started this car of ours; WD-40 is just part of it. Whole thought processes now walk straight-and-true paths across sturdy plywood, ideas are built into conclusions with the aid of concrete blocks. In just a couple of months we will have been together (this time, this time) four years in a row. I recently read somewhere that four years often marks the death of a relationship — the author theorized this is because it takes four years to wean our young. (Sidenote: WHAT?) Of course I can’t be sure until the September anniversary rolls around, but I feel like we’re probably going to make it past the four year death knell. I no longer snicker when he suggests building something we could easily buy at Target for $3, and the other day I actually proposed we have deli sandwiches for dinner. Maybe it’s alarming that I’ve been so transformed by the Lad’s philosophy, but if this is the dark side I don’t wanna be light.

One Response to Screak: a screeching squeak

  1. michele

    oh, sarong, it’s right.