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The 15th Has Officially Arrived!

It's about one in the morning, but holy cow, a part of me doesn't want to sleep. In a matter of HOURS and not DAYS I get my time with Dave. I love that it's all a surprise except for some vague hints about "dinner reservations at 5" and "dress nicely but dress warmly" tantalize me and make the minutes seem to crawl by, BUT LET THEM CRAWL. If it were possible, I'd cripple time, break its knees and wrists, just for a little while tomorrow morning...while I'm showering and putting on my favorite skirt (and most shamefully expensive piece of clothing whose price tag has been buried safely in my closet) and shampooing my hair just so I could savor the anticipation. Call me a freak, but I LOVE the moments leading up to a highly-anticipated day. I always function best when I have something to look forward to, and while I enjoy those wonderful anticipated days, and writing about (well, gushing about) them, a part of me is sad...because it's over. I can't fill in the unformed hours with my imagination, and I couldn't possibly remember every moment of the day when it passes, and it always makes me a little sad when I'm combing my fingers through my unbraided hair and slipping into my flannel pizza pajama pants that...it's done. A memory never to be duplicated. However...I do take great pleasure for the following weeks snuggling under my floral-print comforter and replaying the day on the back of my eyelids as I fall asleep, and casually slipping it into every conversation that lasts longer than 5 minutes in which I can animate my excitement with passionate hand gestures.

And yes, there will be a blow-by-blow second-to-second replay of my day when I get back tomorrow night, right after slipping into my love-worn pizza pants and exchanging my contacts for my glasses. And I will enjoy every second recounting it for you, even if the anticipation is gone.

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