Sob Point

It's like a wall -- the point where there are just too many emotionally trying things at one time that I can't not cry about all of them, even if I'm perfectly rested.

Today was Sob Day.

(You are going to have to read the post to get to the funny part. Sorry, kids).

It'd be nice if I could be a strong almost-Army wife who understands, accepts -- heck, even embraces, the sacrifice. Sure, it'd be nice ... but I don't feel like that's going to happen at this exact moment.

The wedding is stressing me out, or rather, people involved in the wedding are stressing me out. I start crying almost everytime I think about how rotten, unloved and unwanted the whole situation makes me feel. So I shouldn't take it personally? It feels personal.

Luke being gone and completely unable to mitigate my emotionally driven conclusions just adds fuel to the weepy fire. I can't talk to him or regain sanity for two whole weeks. There's not even a hope that I'll be able to talk to him, which is extra special hard. Two weeks! What if I die? What if I decide I can't handle it anymore? What if I decide that I really DO want to be a nun instead of getting married? Who will convince me not to do those things!?

So tonight Luke and I went to dinner (I cried on the way over), and then I dropped him off on post (I cried sitting in the car, while getting gas after leaving him and while driving home). Then I sat in the car in front of the apartment and cried some more about all the stupidness ... and then I decided that it was time to come into the apartment and watch What Not To Wear (which I planned to do while crying periodically over tea) when I realized ...

That Luke had the apartment key and I was locked out. Completely locked out from the one thing that I expected to bring me solace -- Stacy, Clinton and More Crying.

My mind raced through the options: leasing office? Closed. Go back on post to get the key? No can do without a military ID. Call Luke and have him meet me off post? No cell phone. Call Abigail and sob uncontrollably into the phone until she comes and rescues me with a no doubt genius plan and/or amazing sarcastic wit?

There it is.

So I did that, and she came (with wit), and took me to post where the Super Slow Army was still packing their trucks and getting ready to leave, then she followed me through a bunch of Army guys, who appeared unfazed and even unaffected (the nerve!) at the site of two hot (sweats and red eyes not withstanding) girls wandering around to find Luke. He appeared a little befuddled to see me but handed me the key without much comment.

More wit, a short drive home and then I got to come and curl up with my blog, tea, Stacy and Clinton and the crying.

Maybe tomorrow I'll have dried up a little bit and maybe not be such a girl. Ill let you know how that goes.