Plort.

I'm going through some sort of superficial life crisis and it's irritating the hell out of me. I think that it has something to do with the war between my zen nature and perfectionist tendencies. I fear that the perfectionist is now wearing the neatly coiffed, veiny, rictus-plastered visage of bridezilla.

Actually, the wedding as an event isn't even part of this debacle at all. More like, with the gravity of this humongous gel (intr. verb: to take shape and achieve distinctness; to become cohesive) of my future, all aspects of my life have to magically fall into alignment, to be pure, radiant and immaculate. I have five weeks to grow my own personal style, cleverness, vividness, cohesion and brand of offbeatitude. Bah! It's more of an attitude than any form of desired control. I am strongly tempted to sell all of my clothes and start anew and I'll probably do it. Wtf? What does this symbolize? Nothing pleases me anymore. I find superficial flaws in myself and others that a scanning electron microscope might pass over. My work isn't good enough, isn't stimulating enough, isn't important enough - but only because it's not perfect. Even my plans for the future are too evanescent and not grand enough. I'm too introverted, too non-photogenic, too thoughtless, too formless and fickle. I can't believe I'm writing this shit.

I've become a brainwashed pessimist. I'm tired of complaining about myself. Maybe I should start watching Les Imbeciles a la Fox News for some inspiration. ;)

The "emo" label in my little label cloud over to the right is getting bigger and bigger. This has to stop!

Friday night, I met Natty and Pepper at the tailor and had my wedding dress fitted. It went beautifully. I waited for Caspian to get home (which wasn't until 7 due to accidents on the interstate) and then we sallied forth in the direction of Campbell University for Rooney's senior recital... Which we couldn't find. We drove around in the darkness, dodging deer and sailing through fogbanks over mysterious rivers and passing the same cluster of Subway+McDonald's+Kangaroo oh, maybe 10 times. We were lost for 1.5 hours and totally missed the recital. We found the recital hall just in time to see Lovely, Rooney and his jubliant band members (check out Old Avenue - they're going on tour next year) exiting the building. We went to Rooney's place nonetheless for some champagne, and then followed Natty and Pepper home, where we went out for dinner at a bar at around midnight and chowed down on onion rings, quesadillas and spinach dip.

Saturday... I did some mysterious things and went over to Batman's parents' house - his sister was home from Charlotte and we did some chilling before I went to my parents' for several hours. Caspian showed up a couple hours after we did, and after brooding heavily for no particular reason (I did, not anybody else), decided to go to Mitch's (bar from my college days) and meet all sorts of friends. There were maybe 12 or 13 of us. I had two strange concoctions invented by Caspian involving Firefly, and around midnight we decided to call it quits for the evening, and then I had some sort of breakdown. Refer to the first two paragraphs of this post. It wasn't pretty.

Our cake tasting was supposed to be on Sunday afternoon, but the cake artiste called me early in the morning to tell me she didn't want to bake her head cold into our cakes. Bah. So I slept and slept and slept, and slept some more. I'd wake up for a minute to appreciate the deep state of relaxation I'd achieved and then I'd be out cold for another hour. I think I was being mysteriously comforted and distilled.

When I woke up, I was more levelheaded than I've been in a week or two. Caspian came home (he'd been conducting his choir for a few hours) and we met Natty & Pepper one last time for pizza, coffee, Scharffen Berger chocolate and ginger snaps.