(are made of this)

Unfortunately, it’s not the dulcet tones of Annie Lennox’s honey-coated voice I’m imagining right now. Yep. The darker, crazed landscaping of Marilyn Manson’s world (in fairness, I do quite enjoy Mr. Warner’s version of the song as well; Annie’s just much prettier to look at) is where my head seems to travel at night.
I’m told it’s normal for a bride-to-be to have outlandish and ridiculous dreams of wardrobe malfunctions, absentee caterers and no-show guests. So I suppose coupling with that an incredibly anal retentive personality (seriously, I made poor LX wash his hands prior to letting him help me stuff our wedding invitation envelopes) pretty much guarantees that those nightmarish crazies are bound to go far beyond the deep end.
And that’s where my whacked-out dreams tend to be taking me as of late. On the plus side, I tend to wake up before my alarm – which sounds at 6:40am during the week – and even earlier on the weekends, effectively cutting short the absurdity of my subconscious meanderings. Of course, for someone who enjoys sleep, I’m not entirely certain this can be called a “plus side.” On the other hand, I do enjoy me my strong black coffee.
I’m finding that it helps to be marrying someone whom I consider to be, perhaps, the most stoic and sensible man alive. He listens quietly to my oftentimes frantic recollections of each night’s absurdity and then calmly reminds me that everything is going to be brilliant and beautiful and amazing. And he’s right. Everything will.
But I have an incredibly active and theatrical imagination. Why I’ve not yet channeled it into a money-making pursuit (and not just a creative one) I’m not sure. I really should look into that. If tales of vampires who glitter in the sun like a parade of Liza impersonators can be turned into a lucrative franchise, there has to be a place for what my mind can conjure. I’m just sayin’.
With only 77 more bridal-barmy sleeps before we say our I Dos, I think I can deal with the insanity of my brain. After that, though, I want it back. My brain that is. Granted, many would find it a less than sane place in which to reside. But I like it. And, after 40 years of living in it, I’ve come to appreciate it wholeheartedly.

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