six days and counting.

That’s it. I’m complaining.
Planning a wedding sucks - Constantly relying on other people who bail or don’t return your phone calls
I’ve never been this emotional before – up and down and all around. I’m not like this, normally. But I’m not normally trying to move, practice, take midterms, deal with crazy roommates, plan receptions, and sign in books, and not get enough alone time, and get too much alone time, and not enough practice time, and too much studying, and deal with the details that I deep down do not care about. I feel like a tight rope inside. When did this begin? Last week. When the packing began. What is it with me and not liking to be on the move? You would think that as a free spirit this would pertain to physically moving as well – I’ve lived out of my car for years. But there is something about being grounded that comes with having my things in place, with a routine that I can choose to break if I feel like it. Having things in boxes and staring reality and huge changes in the face is enough to make anyone feel like they are going to hyperventilate. Its been a big year - a lot of work . . . and I’m feeling the pull of it all.
All these questions about how many tables we’ll be using, if I want a throw away bouquet in addition to my ‘real’ one, what shade of cream to dye the smallest girls dresses. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. What I care about is him. I care if he smiles, and if my muffins make his day brighter. I care that he loves me, and that he tells me I’m enough – even when I don’t feel good that day. I care that he wants to be with me, forever. I care that he loves me even when I am hard to love – and that he doesn’t give up on me, ever. That he’ll hold me and kiss me all over and somehow make me laugh when I want to tare someone’s eyes out - that somehow when he touches me everything in the whole world rights itself and is okay. I care that he loves to make me smile, I care if he has eaten that day. I care about how I can help him feel how I see him. I care if he gets enough sleep and if he was able to watch tv and talk to the guys, because I know how much he loves it. I care a little bit about the weather on our wedding day – and that is about it when it comes to the white, the old, and the new. Engagements suck – let it be known. My advice is to have the shortest one possible.

ahhh. wow, what a weekend. I'm learning that I need to set aside some time to write - its just not getting done these days. I think its a result of having someone I tell everything to - I allow myself to purge audibly and don't stop to dip the pen in ink. Today I could write a novel. I hope to be able to, one day.
11 days and counting.

get this. I learned today that the cat woman downstairs has TWO floors for her apartment. I knocked on one door and she cracked open the door one floor below - which I thought odd since at the time I didn't think that was her apartment. How can one woman fill an apartment that is two stories so full that she can't open the door? This woman is amazing. She of coarse claimed she wasn't dressed and couldn't let me in - which I know isn't true because she was dressed. So how am I going to get the mechanic in to fix the intercom so the whole building can know who's at the door? Good luck because she can't open the door and she will not let us go in there. Probably best for all humanity if we just allow the intercom to stay broken.

Here's what I don't get.

People who feed the birds.
I mean, common people. I love animals - but pigeons are like rats . . . they are everywhere, and they don't have a brain, and they will survive if you don't feed them. And they are full of disease. I know because when I moved here and I was in withdrawals from my dog and my horse I thought about capturing one and forcing it to be my pet. But then someone informed me about the disease. Good thing, I could have been a gonner. So lets stop feeding the birds, eh?