I need to get it together. Seriously. My fuse over the last few days has been so much shorter than normal and I don't even like being around me when I'm like this. I can imagine what other people think. I wonder if they really notice.
A disease of perception.
It's not really exploding, though I have lost my temper twice over relatively small things this week and had to make a quick amends. I'm just getting more and more passive aggressive as the week goes by. I need to get my grounding again. That is my project for the weekend.
It's been tough. 12 hours of work, plus other stressors... I could use a bit of a break. Hopefully ring shopping will let me slip back into the fun and happy part of getting married. Not the part that justifies the existence of excel spreadsheets and group therapy.
The 12 hours a day thing ends on Friday. At least, it ends it's regularity on Friday. That is going to help quite a bit. I am going to be transitioning with several jobs, changing my schedules and changing the way that I work. Life is good. The future looks very good, and I just need to keep in mind that this week is this week.
It's not as easy to get married as I would have thought. I've been on the phone almost constantly for the last 5 days getting just my family and groomsmen together on the same page. I still have to send out a mass email to the grooms-men father and grandfather, coordinating everything from dates and times to tie colors.
I just talked to Mike, one of my groomsmen, and found out that he broke up with his long-time girlfriend. she was a nice girl... she had a great dog. Her dog Riley is one of the classiest ladies that I know. As far as Dogs go, she is in a class by herself.
In order to earn a few extra bucks for the wedding, I've begun bartending again. It's taken some time to knock the rust off, but I'm starting to see some return on the time I've spent mixing drinks in a certain type of indentured servitude -- I mean training.
I'm starting to call up everyone I know in the bar business, letting them know that I am back behind a bar. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed the job. It's akin to what I love about EMS. There is a rush there, a thrill. I can't wait to get back into a place where I have the latitude to really start playing around with the position..
Those of you who know me well know that I have almost no ego what-so-ever. As a matter of fact, my humility is renowned and may be my best trait. (/sarcasm) Despite all of that, I still like it when people say nice things about me. Especially when it's my mom.
It's time for a COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE FUNDRAISER!
Support the troops, Support the addiction.
While looking at my younger -- and slightly less attractive -- brother's website this morning, I found a picture of him smoking his last American cigarette. Being a few months in to what is possibly up to a 24 month deployment, he finds himself in a tough spot. He can't just hit the 7-11, they only carry mortar rounds and rocket propelled grenades.
Unfortunately, since my last care package to Iraq probably violated more than a few Iraqi alcohol laws (A Sponge Bob Pinata was filled to the brim with mini-bottles) and I now have a wife that would appreciate me staying on the side of the line that results in the fewest number of federal charges I am going to be taking donations to send cigarettes to the troops. No more Pinatas. I promise.
So far in office collections, we have a total of $5 American and some Canadian coin that we got in our change instead of a quarter.
I'm surrounded by the reality of the "already/not" yet of my life. I'm in a middle ground where the pace is rigorous, where the light at the end of the tunnel is still at the end of a tunnel and where I don't know how to handle the terrain.
This would be the point where having some experience would be a big help. It would be.
We are in the middle of the wedding planning heat, the dog-days of wedding planning. I hear rumors of cakes and wine glasses. There is much talk of guest lists and party schedules. For my part, I've got a nice tie.
We are going ring shopping on Saturday.
It's a lot all at once. It's a strange feeling asking for ham that I won't be eating. There is cake that I will get a mouth full of and scotch that won't meet my glass. It's a tornado. But for all of that, there is a suit that only I can fill. A ring that only I can wear and a marriage that I get to share completely with one person.
After the wedding comes much more, a marriage.
And with all of that waiting for me on the other side of a month, I dream about flat tires and scapulars in my trunk.
I have a list of things, albeit a mental one, of things that I never want to do again. Things like knee surgery, redecorating David's bathroom with a bottle of tequila, and of course major dental work fall easily on this list.
After yesterday, I have a brand new entry landing in the top spot of this list. Telling anyones parents, including my own that their beautiful daughter is pregnant.
It started off much worse than I expected, ended much better and somewhere in the middle involved a Methodist minister trying to convert me and get me to become a preacher. I kid you not.
Ok, I'm now at zero hour for a day that I've been happily avoiding for a few months now. A couple of you know the situation and I'm sure that more of you will know by the end of the next week. Life is good. Life is tough. Life is life and you just have to do the best you can with the situations that you find yourself in. That being said, I am picking up the ball and running with it as far as I can and as best as I absolutely can. Next week we can celebrate this all. This week, it is going to be a bit of a wound to nurse.
The content is familiar, but the site is oh-so different. I know. The thing is that I've decided to keep this blog. That means that I can use that Typepad account that I've been letting gather moss as well as step away from my former free host and out of a contentious battle between stblogs.com and the elder stblogs.org
The Completely inappropriate guide still exists. I'm keeping it around. It has alot that I do not wish to lose. This blog looks as if it will contain far more.
I was talking to Jenn last night tangentially about some of the dreams that I’ve been having lately. The first was a clown with an umbrella that was everywhere I went, and the second featured a school bus on autopilot that I couldn’t get off of. I’m not sure if these could be considered anything like a Jungian archetype, but they do tend to make me think that I am more than just a bit afraid to be a parent.