Dirty Yellow Sponges

They've got it all wrong: you don't become an adult when you turn eighteen or twenty-one. Nor, despite what your professors say, do you become an adult when you enter college. No, you become an adult when you get engaged. I had no idea I would have to mature so fast and instantly know all about insurance, finances and fine china.

I drove a lot this weekend, and therefore, had a lot of time to think. I looked down at my diamond ring sparkling in the sunlight as I drove and thought...
"what the hell have I gotten myself into?"
I'm sure every bride thinks that to herself once or twice during the preparation for marriage. A word of wise to my friends: Don't be engaged for longer than six months. I know, I heard it too, but it's true. You'll go mad. Everyone wants to "help" you prepare for your special day. But their help may be more than you've bargained for.

I was thinking the other day about all those sappy chick flicks and books that depict a lovely maiden being swept off her feet as prince charming saves the day.(eff you eldridges) True, it can happen, but you've got to land sometime. I think I have. Don't get me wrong. I love my fiance, I love the thought of getting married, and I even love planning the wedding...sometimes. I just never thought I would be on this road to wedded bliss. It's just a little bumpier than I thought.

I was thinking too, as I drove(these are either the deepest, or most metaphorical, or wierdest thoughts I've had in awhile... I should take road trips more often)that I want to be like a sponge. Like one of those nasty yellow kitchen sponges that seem to soak up everything. I know, wierd, but it's true. I want to soak life up as it happens. And get squeezed out at all the right times. I feel like I can get so calloused to life and its experiences. And I don't want to. I want to drink in every moment. Every single day.
On or off the record, I guess in a way you could call it my new year's resolution.. a sentimental one.