Hi, Reality. I'm Erin.

With the exception of the two (2) GIANT millipedes that refused to die even while being sprayed with Raid by a woman with a hammer in her hand, and then decided to split up, thus leaving said woman with one (1) millipede and one (1) hammer. And hi, I have wooden floors. So no. Hammer, you were just for looks.

ANYWAY.

With the exception of that one horrible 15-minute period of my life (though the trauma of allowing the other millipede to scatter and leave alive but probably with the same case of emphysema that I just gave the three (3 -- two of them, one of me with my hammer) of us will keep me awake tonight), my October is going fabulously.

We're down to the last few seconds (exaggeration) before this wedding thing, and all I can think about (besides bugs and how much I dislike Dave working second shift at this exact moment) is work.

And that makes the time fly, mainly because I will die at the wheel of my computer (because journalists have wheels on their computers. They come standard on any model) before I admit that there's no way I can possibly cram 10 days of work into two.

So I have to let go.

This is the part that some '80s song comes on, played by a jazz flute. On one hand, I want to walk away from it all at 5 p.m. on my last day there as a single woman and not look back, and get in my car and make that long, boring trip alone. But then again, I know it's going to be more like I leave a little later than that, to get in my car and freak out all the way home because HOLY CRAP I AM GETTING MARRIED and What is this?! A wedding dress?! In my backseat!? Is this for real?!

I will speak out loud and insert the ? and the ! as if I were typing.

And it will be for real.

Don't confuse this with cold feet. My feet are slightly above 98.6 degrees. It's just ... I'm not going to work the next day, and I have a big dress in my car, and ... oh, look, the dog sweater.

Reality's sinking in. Whoa. This is awesome.

(Photo: No, it did not snow. This is from the vaults of Erin's life.)