Ramblings of an early bird staying awake waaaaay too late.

With 5 days to go, I'll admit I've become something of a crazy person.

Jared's family/extended family threw me the loveliest of bridal showers on Saturday, though.
It was possibly the most beautiful party I've ever attended, with lots of bright colors and delicious finger-foods, a five-star video, and so many kind guests offering well-wishes and nice, useful gifts.

That somehow restored my sanity and perspective, and for one day, all I felt was bliss (and spider fangs in my toe) as I realized that we are so fortunate and even if I don't procure an idea for the world's most fantastic table centerpieces by Saturday, we will be married and all will be spiffy.
Yes, spiffy.

And seven days from now we'll be in Germany! Which realization actually caused my sanity to come crumbling back down because I forgot that that's the sort of thing that one should shop and pack for.
And my brothers are itching for me to leave so they can take over my room, so I guess I need to pack and move all that, too. And finish planning this wedding, I suppose. With hair appointments and temple trips and court appearances and major holiday celebrations on the side.

This is why I spent an hour this evening rolled up in a ball on my floor, nibbling slices of turkey and talking to my fiance over the phone about the trauma that is my inability to find my class notes from a course I took three semesters ago that would allow me to dissect his Arizona dialect. Anything to stall the hang-up, because that would mean it would be time to face real life.

Yes, the crazy person has emerged. At least wedding-week Laura doesn't reflect Bridezilla so much as she does an ultra hyperactively jittery version of herself that uses unnecessarily long words and blabbers on and on about nothing and everything all at the same time.

Hey look, school notebook spotting on the top shelf!
Dialectology awaits me.
Next time, I'll return saner and with smaller words and more pictures.

Life's so great.

Go buy yourself a snowcone and eat it by yourself on a swing.
Because nothing's better than alone time with a heaping pile of sugar-snow whilst watching children play tag.
You may call me Ramby the Rambunctious Rambler.

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