I feel like time is speeding up. Twenty-nine hours til Wedding Day, and my to-do list is a human impossibility. What I'm most afraid is going to happen: the wedding will go by so fast I won't even feel it, and suddenly, I'll be standing on the other side wondering how I missed the train. An hour is an hour is an hour, but I feel like I should be able to harness time and slow it down somehow. I know I've been saying that I can't wait for this to be over, but I don't know if that's really true. I am going to try really hard to pay attention on Saturday, to notice it as it's passing. Because if I can capture it in my mind, I think I'll be able to make the moments last longer. Or at least, I'll be present as they go.

Well, there are 51 hours until it will Officially be Wedding Day, and I'm more than a little stressed. I've got so much to do, and I don't know how it is going to happen.

I just got back from David's Bridal, which I visited for my first and last time as a bride. While I was there letting my mom tell me what wrap she liked best for my dress, I just felt absolutely sickened by what the bridal industry does to people. Their advertising is some of the most insidious, I think, because it plays on nearly all the major insecurities of women. Way-happy salesgirls go bouncing around the store, probably convinced that they're helping to make someone's dreams come true, while they're just part of this massive materialistic black hole. I hope I sound pissed, because I totally am: I don't take kindly to the idea that there is a whole industry that's trying to make money off my hopes and fears surrounding the thing that's most precious to me on this earth.

I'm pissed at myself for letting it get to me. Don't think you're stronger than the Bridal Industry. You are not. It will get you. I thought that by having a tiny wedding the Bridal Industry Demon would think me too small a fish to be bothered with, and I would go unnoticed, unpossessed. I was wrong. Just because you don't buy any bridal magazines doesn't mean your mom won't. And we all know the untamable power of a mother on a mission. I can't believe the things I've let stress me out during this whole process. Finding the Perfect Soup Bowl, a journey of many miles and much profanity; who should have a corsage, maybe everybody? because it's so small; the registry--did we get the right stuff?; the list goes on. At the top of my list of regrets is that I don't feel like I've had as much fun with Conrad during the past 4 1/2 months as I should have. The fact that I've let these petty things take precedence over just enjoying my relationship with him makes me heartsick, and I'm so glad all this hoopla will be over soon.

For now, I have to put together the menu cards for the wedding dinner. It is possible that I will need to be wheeled to the ceremony on a stretcher.

At A Little Pregnant: Christmas Snatch and fertility snowflakes. Hilarious and scary.

I'm in one of those moods where I just feel totally in love with the world. I was listening to music, trying to find something inspiring for me and Julia to perform to in the show in January, and stumbled into complete giddiness when I played Smashing Pumpkins' "Tonight, Tonight." Julia and I are performing on a very high, delicate, beautiful double-wide trapeze, and the apparatus just seems to call for something magical. I'm thinking of the music video and how incredible it was, and how Victorian and strange and supernatural it was. You HAVE to come see us perform. It's going to be incredible.

I'm blogging from the new place, which we spent our first night in last night. It was strange: we lay on our backs staring up at the ceiling of our bedroom and wondered aloud at the weirdness. Here we are, in a place that belongs equally to both of us, neither of us feeling like we belong to it, at least not yet. Even my mattress felt weird--when Conrad and Dad put it on the bed, I asked them to flip it, and my comfy groove was gone. It is like staying at a hotel. In a way, I feel like I'm living outside of myself, just watching everything. Sgt. Whiskers had no problem getting into his groove. He walked in and instinctively found his "office," sight unseen. I hope I settle into this new place as easily as Kurtie does into his crapbox.