kiwords

WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE DATE?

You know what’s happening this month? DO YOU?

If you said Groundhog Day, you’re officially NOT MY BEST FRIEND.

I am getting HITCHED! Married! Betrothed! I shall ride off into the sunset with the love of my life…except two days later we’ll be going to parent-teacher conferences; did I mention that, honey? Do you mind? Will it still be a honeymoon-like activity if I keep my hand on your thigh during the whole meeting?

Whoops, sorry, Internet.

Anyhow.

The point is, I’m getting married! As Raphael mentioned, galloping around the kitchen as I prepared dinner tonight,

“My Mama is having her wedding in SEVENTEEN DAYS!”

“Really?” Dad asked, “How do you know that?” Dad knows, deep in the deepest folds of his heart, that Raphael is a genius, and he probably was hoping to hear Raphael tell him how he’s been working on a homemade calendar, which he’s etched on the wall by his bed with his toenail, and has been calculating the time of year by the length of the days…

But no. Raphael, uninterested in Dad’s question, trotted off. Instead of a response from Raphael, Mom rolled her eyes at Dad.

“How do you THINK he knows that? Who else around here could be counting the days?” They both swung around to look at me, and I gave them a “guilty” wave. They smiled indulgently.

It’s true. I am counting the days. I do things like fill a sheet of paper with row after row of my new signature, getting comfortable with it at the end of my pen. I drove past a sign in front of the local high school, announcing a silent auction to be held February 11, and I thought, that is ONE WEEK before I get married! Because it’s all about the wedding, you know.

I am living proof that 34 does not necessarily = mature.

People are fond of asking me if I’m getting nervous. I tell them primly that I’m not worried about the marriage, but yes, the details of the wedding are causing me some strain.

I LIE.

I’m A GREAT BIG BUNDLE OF NERVES. You know how they say dogs can smell fear? I’m pretty sure Carmi is starting to edge away from me, thinking, geez, do something about the fear-reek, human.

Scared. Oh yes.

Not cold-feet-scared, you understand. I don’t have any doubt about this being the right next thing in my life. It’s more like…more like the fear one would feel standing at the door of a plane about to jump. You may have complete confidence in your parachute, you may understand the physics that will waft you safely to the ground, but JIMINY CRICKET, IT’S ONE FREAKING BIG JUMP.

So. Here I am, cracking my knuckles and waiting to GET ON WITH THE JUMP, ALREADY. My days are crazy, full of important details like "find three ivory dress shirts for the boys" – stuff that DOES NOT MATTER, really, but still manages to wake me up in a cold sweat at

2 AM

While I spin and fret over things like VASES and THE DJ, Clay is up to his nips in work over at our house. He came over for dinner tonight and he was so tired that if he wasn’t actually talking or listening to someone, his eyes would start to sort of quiver and roll back in his head. This is inconvenient for me, as Clay is the person most likely to make me feel better about anything. He doesn’t seem to have gotten the invitation to my breakdown.

So I’m muddling along, collecting wee ivory dress shirts and vases and something of a twitch under my right eye. And now, see? I don’t even know what my point was, except that I feel guilty all the time for not blogging more, and so I suppose I have to confess that this WHOLE THING was a passive-aggressive sort of way of saying, “YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT I’M THINKING? HUH? HERE IT IS!”

And also to mention, in passing, that it is now SIXTEEN DAYS until I marry the for reals, no irony intended, love of my life.

Heh.

You know, when I remember that? It doesn’t seem nearly as scary.