My graduation party is this weekend and well, I'm neurotic, so I go a little crazy when there's lots of planning and budgeting and such to do. I also don't have a wedding to plan yet and I refuse to have "Class of 2008" sprawled across everything, so I've been a bit obsessive about getting the tables set just right. This was fabulous fun for BF I'm sure as I drug him to the craft store twice last weekend and talked his ear off about all of the different ideas that I had. Things have come together beautifully though. I have foot high hurricane vases with red flowers arranged inside ready to be filled with water and capped with floating candles (which are exactly the perfect size), four dozen votive holders that I wrapped with red, black, and white polka dot ribbon, plain white plastic table cloths and black filigree decals which will hopefully make them better. And I'm leaving the decoration of the rest of the room to my mother. We've agreed on black flatware and plates and balloons and streamers in coordinating colors. On the whole I think it's going to look great, as long as I can keep the fluorescent lights low enough to not destroy the candlelight.
And I, of course, will be stunning. Tongue in cheek of course. I gained 15 pounds during those 16 days in the hospital (all you do is eat and sleep!), my feet and ankles are puffy with mild edema, and the prednisone has given me a nice round puffy face, it has completely cleared my dermatitis though, so that's nice. But I've done all I can to subvert the effects of my health with an awesome black and white, knee length halter dress, patent leather, round-toe pumps, fishnets (to hide the awful bruises that the blood thinners have made a permanent feature), and some cute new jewelry. On the whole I think that it's going to be a fun night, though it feels rather odd to be having a party two months after I graduated (technically) and with so little that I feel I have to celebrate. But I guess that we can celebrate the simple fact that I earned the degree, whether or not I can actually use it.
I heard from a friend in Iraq today, and no, he's not Iraqi. He's been over there for more than a year now and it's always so bittersweet to hear from him. He's a very good friend, probably my best non-girlfriend. Fiercely smart and witty, good looking to boot. He was supposed to join the Navy as part of their nuclear submarine program, which is the most selective and academically rigorous program in the armed forces. After more than a year of jerking around by his recruiter, he finally found out that they wouldn't take him because he'd been on an anti-depressant for a short time in high school. He was not only pissed at having all of his hopes blasted, but was just the kind of hot headed kid to say "fuck it" and spend the next few years doing as little as possible. So he finally decided to get himself some discipline and responsibility and money and joined the Army. I thought he was such an idiot for making a choice like that while we were actually at war, and I still hold to that one, but it's still been the best thing he ever did for his life. And he's relatively safe. His little group (whatever they're called) are essentially sitting around making sure that a controlled area doesn't fall back into hostility. He's in no immediate danger and as of his email today, he should be home on leave next month and home for good before Halloween, so I only have to worry about him for a little while longer. He always makes me cry though, not for where he is or how much I miss him, but because he always sounds more concerned for me than for himself and always manages to say just the right thing. His mom has had fibromyalgia for years, so he understands what living with chronic pain actually entails. It's nice to have someone like that in my life; someone who isn't dealing with this shit for the first time.
I miss him.