I'm on tap. Are you ready? Here I go. *pump, pump, pump, pump, pump* 5 pumps aught to get us flowin good.
We're gonna do this Edge style. For once. Because I don't have the energy to distinguish one thought from the next for you tonight.
Full. I feel full. And sometimes so much so that I fear if I consume another breath it might be my last. I 'phoned a friend' not too long ago and we discussed my upcoming wedding. He asked if I was beginning to feel 'gassy yet'. I said, 'why yes, I do feel gassy as a matter of fact'. He explained to me that being farty was something that happens to people who are getting ready to get married. I tried to tell him that I wasn't feeling farty gassy, but rather full and bloated gassy. He told me 'you just wait'. I really hope I don't have farty gas on July 15th.
Anxious. Anxious about life, always, but particularly about leaving a country whose borders I've not crossed. Ever. Before. Anxious about money, and choices, and danger, and dysentery, and terrorists, and not having a place to drive off to when I just want some time to myself. About leaving my friends, my dog, my Vern. My family...even though they always seem so distant to me. Anxious about getting robbed, or raped, falling off the side of a mountain in a bus, getting Japanese encephalitis, or malaria. Anxious that we won't have our good friends Lexapro and Adderall for a WHOLE YEAR, when we will probably need it most. I am anxious about getting married. Not because I am unsure of my choice, but because I will be entrusting the REST. OF. MY. LIFE. to another human being. One that has a penis and looks at porn, and probably uses the word 'pussy' instead of 'her delicate flower' to his friends.
Frustrated. I feel I can't absorb enough. And as quickly as my brain receives, processes, and reasons, my anxiety/OCD/ADD/whatever it is, is always there to give a preemptive strike.
So I am full, anxious, and frustrated and all the while bursting at the seams with anticipation for all the uncertainties that lie before me. All of my belongings stowed away in a basement, our home and all the hard work we put into it is now someone else's, the money is in the bank, Marley is scheduled for his 'de-nutting', and in a closet somewhere hangs side by side a groom's 'bespoke' and a brides 'Lazaro' waiting for their big day. The boy's business is in the process of changing hands, we are scheduled for a month full of shots, (see: Japanese encephalitis), I will say goodbye to my Marley and turn him over to my dear friend Kat and cross my fingers that he remembers me when I come back.
I am on a steady diet of Twix bars (thank you A) and Prilosec, and while one might imagine I am counting the days left to 'the big day', I am more interested in the number of days I have left in comfortable beds with pillowtop mattresses and McDonalds, Taco Bell, B&J's Chubby Hubby, Nutty Butty bars, Kraft Mac and Cheese, and all the faces and places familiar to me. I am absorbing my Americano, because I know I will go thru a withdrawl unlike the common traveler excited to experience all the authentico offerings of his new surroundings.
Holy shit. We're really doing this.
I better find my chi.
p.s. I just can't wait another 3 days to 'unveil' May's header. Compliments, AGAIN, by my dearest Karen. She gives good head.
