Gaaaaah

The dust farting lap top has shuffled off this mortal coil. Which means that I am stranded using the dust farting desk top, which is located in J's room. This is fine, aside from not having any of my favorites saved, so I have to type everything in from memory, and really, that's just too much goddamn work.

Had engagement photos taken. It was fun. I wore false eyelashes. Rather than making me look like a drag queen or Tammy Faye, I looked...like I had eyelashes. (Amazing, that.)

Went to the 'Air Sex' championships. It's like air guitar, only with, well, sex. Hilarious. Good times were had by all, aside from the mild (for me) and moderate to severe (for others) food poisoning that roared through our gastrointestinal systems. That and the girl that barfed up about a gallon and a half of god knows what in the bar bathroom while I hover-peed as fast as I could in the stall next to her. She probably wasn't having a great time....anymore.

Then I had a small (comparatively speaking) nervous breakdown on Sunday, and have felt oddly disconnected and/or barfy since then. It's awesome.

New guy at work. Has lots of experience, is in his early 50's. He is very interesting and very talkative. Also, exhausting. From the moment he arrives until the moment he leaves he is talking, talking, talking, super animated and very loud. Singing, laughing, telling off color jokes and basically demanding the attention of all those within earshot. It makes the long, laborious afternoons of just JZ and I running our asses off and making fun of each other seem like cozy naps in recliners.

Coworker has been released from jail and has returned unscathed from his immediately following vacation to the other side of the nation. His summation of the trip? "It was hot. I don't like airplanes." I then made the mistake of using the word 'vertigo' in conversation, and things felt just like old times as he stared at me, open mouthed, prepared, I'm sure, to accuse me of making up words. Again. (Reciprocate, it seems, was also invented by yours truly.)

I am getting married in 23 days. In 27, I will be sitting on a sandy beach somewhere, drinking something syrupy and heavily laced with rum, wearing very small amounts of clothing and very large amounts of sun screen. This is the mental picture that keeps me from sobbing every waking hour of every moment of every day. Not the excitement of being T's wife, (finally) or the excitement of having a really big party just for me--the excitement of knowing it will all be over SOON. Tangibly soon.

Had a small panic attack last night thinking of our first dance. It's starting to become obvious that we will be the center of attention that day, that night, that people will be looking at us and taking our picture and forming memories based on our behavior and actions. I don't like to be the center of attention. I don't like to have my photo taken. I don't feel beautiful or elegant or bride-ey, or any of that crap. I don't feel that way in my dress, my shoes, my makeup. I feel fat and tired and scared and overwhelmed. I feel like the people that are acting like this isn't a big deal, like they resent me for having a wedding, like they don't believe that I deserve something nice and whatever are right. Because, well, majority rules, doesn't it? Basis of democracy and all. And it truly is the majority of those around me that are acting this way.

Whatever. I feel barfy. I'm going to sleep. I know I'm being irrational, that I'm whining, that I'm being irritating because I'm supposed to be the blushing happy bride, and instead I'm just trying to be me and I'm failing.

Sleep now. Work tomorrow. Will post pictures of the weirdness that has been my garden and the insanity that was my false eyelashes soon.