Echoes.

I want to scream those words.
TWENTY-THREE DAYS.
Do you get what that means?
That’s tomorrow.
Or at least the next day.

Who the hell gets married in 23 DAYS?
Yes. I’m incapable of not putting it in capital letters.
I think it has something to do with the near-vomitatious feeling that is sitting in my body at the sheer thought of only 23 DAYS left.

Wasn’t it just yesterday we were meeting at Starbucks and I was thinking “I’d SO totally hit that”?
It had to have been.
Or last week, maybe – my memory isn’t what it should be because I have only 23 DAYS left.

I’m not sleeping, which might add to some of the hysteria.
Or perhaps it’s the fact that I spent last night making 200 different Moo cards only to have the internet eat them and have to start all over.
Or maybe it’s that I really am incapable of making even the smallest decision anymore without affirmation.
Because when I do, things happen. Bad things happen.
Say, for instance, my MC Hammer style black pants, navy socks, and too-short ivory sweater combo I’m rocking today.
Every time I say ‘Stop!’ at someone I have to follow it up with ‘Hammer Time!’ – they insist.
And I would too if it were someone else.

But it’s me.
And I have 23 DAYS left.
23 DAYS.
This is huge.
Bigger than mountains, bigger than the universe, bigger than Abe’s brother’s head.

I’m getting married.
With all the trappings I never wanted, all the money I never wanted to spend, all the planning I never wanted – BUT!
I am getting the guy I wanted – absolutely want.
Just.
In 23 DAYS.