The Overly Dramatized Journal of My Life - July 22, 2009

Sarcasm? Check! Rambly Rant? Check! Embarrassingly Dramatic? Check! ...Enjoy!
Disclaimer: This was almost 2 years ago now, and Bekah, I LOVE YOU. :) Just keep that in mind as you read...
Oh, and Disclaimer #2 - this was the day before my birthday... aka: traditionally my most over dramatic day of the year...

Pacing the room, thoughts, ideas, fears, swirling around my head. Productivity is at an all time low. A week and a half to go; this is not the time to be unproductive, and it is certainly not the time to admit to being scarred. But hey, however silly it may sound, you try moving half way across the world, by yourself, completely alone, for a year. Try packing everything you could possibly want/need in the next year into two suitcases and leaving everything else behind, not knowing for sure if you will ever come back.  This possibility had always been there. But until recently it had been quite easy to shove it aside and laugh it off. As time keeps plodding on and pushing that date ever closer however, all sorts of things seem to be more possible and more likely. I suppose this is what being paranoid feels like. I’ve never felt this way before. Usually I am a happy person, somewhat optimistic about my chances. I’m sure I will get through this. I have to get through this.

This trip is just the last in a long list of anxieties right now however. The day before I leave my little sister is getting married. Yes, I said the day before I leave. Yes she is too young to be getting married. No I am not thrilled at having to stand up in the front wearing a dress for thirty minutes of my life with people looking at me and judging me and saying ‘wow, someone needs to learn to stand still’ or ‘that is really not her color’ or whatever else they will be whispering about this event for the next year. In addition to getting the joyous honor of being forced into a dress and made to stand in front of a church full of people, I get the additional honor of debuting my limited vocal skills and humiliate myself in yet another way. At least the audience should not run out of conversation topics any time soon. Oh, and that is not the end of the honors bestowed upon me. Nope. I also get to be the most highly honored of those forced to stand in front. Yep. The Maid of Honor.  They got one thing right when they came up with that term. I’ve been cleaning everything from scraping sidewalks to scrubbing toilets for the last month in preparation for all of the guests arriving. Plus there are parties to plan and prizes to buy and gifts to purchase and details to organize. I’m so honored by these proceedings that I would almost consider paying my sister to elope. Now I know you think I’m being harsh and self centered and overly dramatic; well, I am. But before you condemn me for that let’s look at the last rant that you so eloquently penned or spoke the last time you were peeved about something. We are all dramatic in our hour.

Right, so rant about wedding, check, evaluate stress level, check. Back on topic. So, my sister is getting married as I have mentioned and this happens to be taking place right before I leave which of course means that focusing on my impending doom is a selfish waste of time when there are bows to tie and mints to mold. This has not been so entirely helpful on the sisterly love front as I have tended to have a mini volcanic explosion/meltdown on average every two days when I feel the need to tell my sister off for making my life more difficult. This is compounded also by the absence of my brother during these proceedings. He happens to be out risking his brilliant, sensible, patient head to protect this country full of lazy ingrates.  And of course, the military, being what it is, he does not get the option of coming home to be equally honored by this mass chaos called a wedding, or to bid adieu to myself, or to resume his place as the buffer between my sister and I. In all honesty his absence contributes a great deal to these mini volcanic episodes. It is ridiculous how much a brother can be missed.