Thursday, September 29, 2005

One day, One month away

Today seems like a big day, or rather that it should be.

I have officially turned 31. An age at which I can no longer deny I have entered a new decade. I am no longer in my twenties or so close it doesn't really matter. Now, there's no turning back.

And in exactly one month I shall be getting married to the most wonderful, generous, loving, and infuriating man I know.

And of the two items, only the latter truly matters to me. I have found it strange all day to be receiving happy birthdays and emailed cards and phone calls filled with good wishes. Which, if you know me at all, is odd for me. I am the girl who has traditionally had a birthday MONTH. Who arranges elaborate get togethers for HERSELF and drags her friends, and whomever's closest more than likely, into one long arduous celebration of, well, herself.

I love birthdays. I love that everyone gets one day where they're are most important and everyone gets to tell them how much they are loved.

And I am a little shocked at myself for this year. Because, honestly, my birthday doesn't seem important. Not like usual, not even in the same universe as usual.

Because right now? I am on pins and needles with anticipation of our marriage. That soon, in a mere month, I will be someone's wife. Someone's partner. We will be a family. No greater, I guess, than we are now. But different. And I can feel the difference sneaking in. Drifting toward me from the edges of our life. And I like how it feels.

This birthday? It doesn't make me feel different, not in any lasting or revolutionary way. But the wedding, and all it means, all it encompasses? It does. And somehow, that weighs more inside me right now. I can't let go of it, I can't look away. I can just look forward, forward, forward.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

That's Us.

We're them. We're everything we like about them and not anything we don't.

We're the quirky and kind, the handsome and pretty, the sarcastic comment and embarrassed giggle.

I found myself doing this constantly. Finding couples I loved and thinking "we're them." In a million ways. His personalized commentary; her sigh of his name. Her empassioned torrents; his patient and supportive hand on her knee. I would listen to songs and think - "us." I would horde them in fact, in playlist after playlist. Listening to them repeatedly. "Us." "He and I." "We."

It was like I needed comfirmation that this was real. That it wouldn't go away, that it wasn't made up. Because it was exactly what I would make up, if I could. It was all too perfect in a way. Maybe not perfect - but real. Too tangible. Solid. Beautiful in that way imperfect things are. In the way worn wood on a banister feels like coming home. I was searching for evidence that this was what I thought it was. What it could be. What I hoped for it to be.

And then I realized the evidence wasn't coming. Because it *was* real. Because it was he and I, and no one else. And we are, yes, a million lyrics of a million songs. And slight reflections of those we love most, cracked mirrored images of what I would find in books and papers. But we're so much more. He is so much more.

And I realized, we're writing those songs, we're creating those images. And I no longer need confirmation it's real, or permanent. Because I know it. I know it in a way I've never known anything in my life. And in itself that is scary and wonderful and amazing.

But I still listen to those songs on repeat, I still glance twice at those couples. I guess it's my way of runing my hand over the bannister, feeling that nostalgic overwhelming reminisce again and again.

I'm home. I'm home. I'm home.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

at last

So this morning, mustering all my i'm-such-a-baby-courage I went to talk to my specialist about my recent CT scans. Sam had to stay at work becasue we're leaving early this afternoon to go home to

GET OUR MARRIAGE LICENSE (but that's another entry)

So I was on my own. As I have had numerous, count them, NUMEROUS medical tests all on my lonesome these last few years - suddenly now that there is someone who is practically obligated to hold my hand and be all logical and calm on my behalf . . . I have become nothing short of a raving lunatic. I'm am apparently no longer equipped to handle medical emergencies. This I have proven. I have spent the last couple weeks bursting into tears over NOTHING. Nothing, people. Me, sobbing at my desk at work, crying uncontrollably on the couch at home. I follow no social norms anymore. I am apparently a fragile delicate emotional woman who cannot remain calm under any circumstances anymore.

Though I will say that after two weeks of playing the WHAT THE HELL IS GROWING IN MY HEAD, near my *eyes* and BRAIN no less, I'd like to think my recent behavior is somewhat acceptable, or at the least, excusable.

So, I go to see the specialist. He's the best in the city and what's more, totally cool. And very very very tolerant of my child-like phobias. He sticks stuff up my nose, takes a sonogram of my ears, reviews my blood tests and scans - and, are you ready? This 50 year old Indian man HUGS me and says "It's not a tumor." Ha! A joke! So clever! It's the same joke I've been telling! Then he laughs a little and says, well, technially it is. But nothing scary. Whatever, I think. The scary was what I was worried about. But even more importantly, after lots of medical explanation and jib jibe, and some FREE DRUGS he tells me he doesn't think I need surgery.

Let me say that again.

No Surgery.

DEAR LORD, THANK YOU. So, if I get this madness again, surgery. But for now, nothing. Some medicine, some taking care of myself, some being careful when I fly. But no cutting me open and digging around. Which is I really wanted. I can deal with being able to fly now, just not the whole opening somehow of my head and scraping off of my sinuses.

So I'm headed home today. To Kansas. All in one piece and very very happy about it.