Elevated anxiety? Check. Racing heart? Check. Increase in intrusive thoughts? Check. I can't pinpoint the exact reason for all this crap, but I think it's a culmination of things like the unpredictability of my income, striving to make it in my writing career, and oh, my wedding that's 25 days from now. I am not at all nervous about getting married; I was ready to marry my man a long time ago. It's the hoopla and spectacle that I'm nervous about. I hate plans, details, having expectations, and being fancy; none of it's me, and I'm just really uncomfortable with having all eyes on me while not feeling like myself. The closer the day gets, the more I realize how much the whole thing is bothering me. I cried in my wedding dress the other day at my last fitting. I mean, it's a beautiful dress and all, but again, fancy shmancy is just not me, nor is wearing the color white for that matter. I felt like I was wearing a costume. Alas, all that being said, I've been so overcome with nerves and stress that my OCD has elevated to a nearly intolerable level. I have needed to find a release, and I found that release on Saturday.
Saturday, I spent the day with one of my closest girlfriends. We went shopping, an activity I normally detest, but was willing to do, since we were looking for a dress for her. Plus, I needed to get out of the house and feel like a part of society again. I also needed girl time. After spending 3 hours at the mall, for which the next day my body sorely paid, we went back to her house and cracked open a bottle of wine. We had decided that she was going to put a fashion show on for me. I love seeing other people dress up, and I love styling them, so I was completely game for this type of entertainment. The more dresses she tried on, the more wine we drank, and the sillier we became. Eventually this led to me running around her house, chasing and playing with her dog who happens to be my God-dog from whom I received millions of much-needed kisses, and dancing without music. We ordered pizza and came to the conclusion that it would be a fabulous idea if I dressed up in something ridiculous to answer the door for the pizza guy. The end result was me wearing her snow white costume, fairy wings, a Hawaiian lei, and a sombrero. I looked amazing... especially with my purple lips dyed by the red wine we were drinking. Needless to say, we freaked the poor pizza guy out who ended up being some 16-year-old kid, probably on his first job, who was so flustered that he couldn't even look us straight in the eyes. Whoopsies! (I think he'll recover... hopefully.)
It was well worth it, anyway. We laughed so fricken hard that day, my lungs hurt. It felt SO good. Sometimes, nothing beats acting completely silly, off-the-chain ridiculous, and just kind of stupid simply because you can. I needed that day. It helped me calm down for at least the next 24 hours, and I finally got a good night's sleep sans nightmares. Laughter is the antidote to my nerves, and I received a lot of medicine that day. Who knew acting like a complete freaking moron was the key to happiness?
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