I'm bursting. Lit'rally bursting at the seams.
With excitement, that is.
Yesterday we found me a messenger bag which was the last thing on the list of missionary-needs and all the sudden I felt this huge, I'm-SO-ready-to-go feeling. I just need to throw everything in a bag (or two) and go. I am ready for 18 months of who-knows-what Gospel sharing goodness.
I try not to get too excited about things and keep a level head. I know, you are probably laughing and thinking, have I ever seen her with a level head? But I try, now-and-again.
I am so happy. I love my life so immensely right now. I just laugh and laugh all the time. I laugh at my family. Because my little brother put "Helen Keller" for the Odd card in Apples to Apples and we all laughed and told him it's not appropriate and he said, "It is odd! How many people do you know who are deaf and blind?" And I laugh at my parents because mum makes up phrases like, "Eagle Seagull" (fun to say, but what we were really looking at was a vulture) and dad because he always has a perfectly time sarcastic, yet loving remark. And my aunt Sybil who can sew like a machine (especially with her sewing machine that plays a fanfare when you turn it on) while listening to ABBA and always has sour patch kids in the candy drawer (unlike our candy draw that has weird oats and chocolate chips, not quite the same level). And my dog is blind, which is sad, but also amuses me to no end. You bounce the tennis ball and she runs towards it, then has to nose around until she can actually find it and then pounces on it. And Heather, who is my favorite sister-in-law in the entire world who I always accidentally match with.
And I laugh at my friends because they make shrine-like facebook albums for me and engage in fantastic phone conversations that involve amazingly realistic animal impersonations and run around OMSI with me and stare open-mouthed at Michael Jackson laser light shows and are sometimes on the same exact wavelength as me like when we say "He's so beautiful!" at the same exact time.
We stayed in a beach house with 100 tiny mirrors on the wall and 40 dog pictures lining the staircase--the staircase which was too small and everyone would trip down. I could see the beach from the porch-like platform that was at the top of a rickety staircase (or you could climb out the window to get to it). And I didn't wear shoes and played soccer on the beach and ran until my lungs hurt. And it smelled like ocean and it looked so good when the sun started to set. Will and I took pictures of us jumping while jumping and the beach fills me with so much joy that it sort of makes me ache.
I was even a good sport and went to the aquarium even though the only kinds of fish I like are the ones that aren't really fish. And I even ate some fish when we ate at the Chowder Bowl. I am getting so brave!
In our Relief Society meeting in church I answered one of the questions in our fill-in-the-blank "quiz" and it was missionary and there was a cheer from the crowd, because everyone knows I'm going on a mission and it's sort of like being a celebrity because all these people I knew as I grew up will run up and tell me how excited they are for me and how proud they are. I haven't really thought about going on a mission as a huge deal but these sort of interactions cause a swell of excitement in me. And Sybil is making some secret food that she whispered to my mom about but I heard "but, in the colors of Italy." Everyone is so supportive I can hardly believe it.
I sort of feel like I belong in a Disney movie because I wake up and feel like singing (and sometimes do) and I think about how I absolutely love everything, from the grain of sand on my toe to my Chacos (which I started referring to as Chacitos, because apparently I need an affectionate term for my footwear) and I want to pounce on everyone and smother them in affection. I have to wrestle Caleb as much as I can before I go, because he is currently 6 pounds lighter than me and I'm pretty sure will be much bigger when I get back. At least I got to enjoy 11 years of not being the littlest.
Last night I was sitting in bed (with a pillow with rams on it and crocheted blanket) and I actually wept a little because I could not believe how lucky I am. I get to go on a mission, to Italy, and they recently changed the dresscode for missionaries so I don't have to wear nylons or grandma length skirts and that, in itself, is enough to jump for joy about.
My brain is pretty much gone though, I say the completely wrong words in the middle of sentences. "I told him I was speaking in Church on Friday." "Church is on Sunday." or "At frozen yogurt they have mini blizzards now!!...I mean, at Dairy Queen."
maybe I'm crazy, but guess what!
It's not a hill, it's a mountain
As you start out the climb
Do you believe me, or are you doubting
We're gonna make it all the way to the light
But I know I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight