The Wedding is in, exactly, six months and 26 days. I don't know if YOU are counting, but in case you hadn't been made aware, that's not a very long time.
I am a person who has to begin packing for a weekend away from home, like, two days in advance because, oh my God, what will I wear on Sunday, and did I pack enough underwear? And I should pack my phone charger. And iPod charger, just in case. And probably the lens cleaner for my glasses. You never know.
Yet here I am, six months out from the BIG day, people, and I have NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING. Shouldn't I be busy planning? Worrying? Yelling at people? I've known brides, OK, and I know how brides get as the wedding approaches. And why is that not me? I want that to be ME. I feel like I'm doing something wrong.
There's details to be planned. Invitations to be ordered. Addressed. Fussed over. Party favors to prepare. Seating arrangements? MUSIC? Tuxes to be thought about. A ceremony to be planned. Hotels to contact. A honeymoon to book. Decorations. Cake. Make-up. Hair. Shit.
You see? There are all these things to think about, so why am I not thinking about them? I imagined wedding planning to be all-consuming, and I'm not going to lie, I was sort of looking forward to it. It'd make me feel all bride-ly, and whatnot. It'd make the time go faster. Make the plans appear real. I want to blush. I want Mom to fuss over the color of the invitations. I want Grandma-In-Law to sit me down and say, "Now, I remember when I got married..." I want to argue over menu options and centerpieces. I want to yell, dangit, and say, "I am the bride, you hear me?"
So while I'm sitting here, waiting for bridezilla, I'll pick the split ends from my hair and daydream about my birthday.