“Engaged” has got to be the most ironic term ever.
Yes, I am engaged. I am very engaged. I am engaged to my Adventure Buddy, my other half, my favorite minion, the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. I have gestured almost exclusively with my left hand for the last two days. I’ve told the engagement story fifty times or more and I keep waiting for the next time I can tell it.
More on that later.
I’m a live wire. I’m like a kid on Christmas Eve. I’m as happy as an angel. I’m as giddy as a drunken man. I’m as merry as–well, you get the picture. (Name that quote.)
I am bursting at the seams.
And I can’t think about anything else.
I can’t think about literary theory. I can’t think about the history of English. I can’t even think about Shakespeare. I love Shakespeare. But not nearly as much as I love AB, wherein lies the difficulty in focusing.
I may be engaged, but I’m totally not engaged in anything else.
I was going to write another flight of fiction tonight, but it’s been a long day after little sleep, which will come back to bite me if I don’t do something about it tonight. After all, reality has become better than my dreams, and is much more fun to write about at the moment. Even more fun than writing about my beloved characters.
I know I’ll have to come down off of cloud 9 and focus on school and wedding planning. But allow me two days, maybe three, of complete and unquenchable happiness before I plunge into seriousness and stress for the next three months.
Maybe a week.