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emmy [AT] curious-notions {dot} net
May 2008
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some days

I just wanted to dance.

The realization hadn’t yet hit me that the shoes were one of the things that excited me about the wedding. They are gorgeous and comfortable and they put me at this perfect height for dancing. So I tried to convince him to dance with me.

He had just woken up. I hadn’t napped or kept him company while he was napping. I had been sad, not that the earlier comments don’t make that obvious, and couldn’t lay down and read or nap with him. The sadness wasn’t getting pushed away very easily. I had put on the shoes because they whispered to me, “Break me in.” Pretty shoes, if blindingly white. They make my hips sway and make me feel pretty. Good shoes. So I’d put them on and tricked myself into forgetting the sadness with a tv show and some really strong crazy-making tea. When I heard him get up, I just wanted to dance and smooch and hug. I felt sexy and happy and light and wooo that tea was strong.

Obviously too strong. He humored me, but he rarely wakes up well. I shouldn’t have expected anything. I don’t think I did really. I was just so in the moment.

So I got my hug and he escaped and damn, at least then you would think I’d have gotten a clue. Some days you just keep having to climb out over and over again. But I hadn’t realized yet. So I went to take a shower. I wanted pretty hair for tomorrow because it’ll be Friday and maybe we’ll go somewhere or do something and I just felt pretty. The shoes, remember? So I slipped them off and got clean and while I was showering I had an idea for the wedding. Something for the guests to look at and to be decoration and to be special.

Now this I knew. I should wait. Not tonight. I should run it by my aunt first. Tell Lin. Tell his mom. Not tonight. Wait. But I didn’t listen. I was happy and clean and pretty and the shoes were back on my feet and I felt like I could dance and I had a great idea. So I told him.

Now my head hurts and I don’t want to read or watch tv or knit or spin or sleep or exercise or clean. The shoes are still on my feet, but I’m sitting down. I keep looking at my feet. I can’t quite take them off, but I don’t think I’ll be trying to dance.

co-opting my life

The wedding is taking over my life.

So it’s not surprising that I have nothing to talk about on here except this wedding.

Basically, I hate this wedding. I’ll just admit it. I hate it. I hate that I have to plan this thing. I hate that it’s going to make Bear and I uncomfortable. I hate that it feels so hypocritical. I hate that it’s expensive. (Seriously, not that expensive, it’s going to be very nice and it’s still within our budget, but… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I hate that it is an expense at all… I think. I don’t know.)

I hate that this feels like it isn’t indicative of Bear and I. Except it is. Weirdly.

I hate that I hate my dress. Except it’s a pretty dress. Just. I don’t know. I think that dress is all tied up with my current mommy/daddy issues. Why the dress, of all things, is getting punished I don’t understand. At least it’s not in my home anymore, so I can’t dream of ruining it.

I think what I hate the most is how the marriage feels so good and right and exciting and scary and yet the wedding feels like it pinches. And that dichotomy pisses me off. Because either we should have been casual or we should have done it right. Except we are trying to do it right and all the trying is what made it wrong. Which makes no sense, but that’s exactly what it feels like.

There have been a few shining lights. Bear and I are still very tight and have made some nice memories in the process. The core of the wedding, Bear’s and my relationship, is good. Great in fact. But the meat of it, the families coming together to celebrate, the celebration, the let’s-have-a-good-time-together, feels wrong.

I keep thinking, the wedding should be amazing. I’m going to have all the people closest to my heart in one place. The idea of that, just having them all there, is my idea of heaven on earth. I am going to be so incredibly happy as long as everyone else is. And then I think about the fact that these people aren’t going to be happy to all be in one place together with all my other favorite people and all the happiness just goes right back out.

Because it’s not about the flowers or the food or the dress or the heat or the cake. I just keep trying to fix those things in the hopes that it’ll make the people happy to be there. And I know that no matter what, all the food, cake, and air conditioning in the world isn’t enough to make the people get along.

How sad is it that the obvious conclusion to this pity party is that I’m not either?

I have flowers

I have flowers.

I have cake.

I have flowers on cake.

I have tables.

And flowers on tables.

And I have a rehersal.

I have a restaurant for the rehearsal dinner.

I have a church.

I have flowers for the church.

I have a plan for the reception and flowers for the reception.

I have a budget!

I have a bouquet.

And boutonnières.

And bridesmaid’s bouquets.

Basically, lots of flowers. :-)

(little note: all those flower links are flowers used in the different arrangments, i.e. for the church, bouquets. i found something pretty close actually.)

Eyes wide open

So tomorrow I’m going to a fiber festival. I have plenty of fiber to keep me spinning for quite a while. I think I’m going to only look for something special. Last year it was alpaca. I think this year it’ll be silk. I do wonder if they sell rolags. I’m tired of spinning top (commercially combed fiber). I want to try a) carded fiber and b) handprocessed. I just wish it were my hands that did the processing.

I’m also still freaking about the wedding. Bear is getting this wild look in his eye. I’m not worried about him not wanting to get married, but I am starting to worry about his ability to get through the wedding. I might end up bribing his groomsmen to trick him into getting drunk. It’s going to be a rough day on him.

And the kids thing. I’ve been all high and mighty sometimes that I don’t notice race. That I treat people as people and don’t notice the color of their skin. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I’m starting to think that was a pretty stupid thing to feel good about. I think if I’m to live as someone who can hold their head up in this world, instead I need to notice. Not to change my own behavior, but to be aware of how people are treated. Notice when people are slighted. Notice why. Notice who. I just learned the other day that the bookstores that have African American sections? They are segregating novels based on the color of the author’s skin. It’s not a section for biographies and histories. I’m not fucking color blind. I am blind. That’s a bad thing to be.

I had a dream the other day about being pregnant. Not such a weird thing. I dream about being a dragon. I dream about ogres. I dream about kids I went to middle school with going to fiber festivals with me. All kinds of weird things. But when I woke up, I was so panicked. I think part of all this is that I’m getting married. Everyone pushed for Bear and I to get married and we ignored them until one day I was driving along and it was in the middle of fall and suddenly I wanted my last name and Bears to be the same so badly I could taste it. I still have a perfect memory in my head of that moment.

But I’m not ready for kids. And we are two months out from our wedding. The second that ceremony is over and I’m officially Mrs. Bear, everyone’s going to be pushing for me to be Mama Bear. And I’m scared. So I think I’m fixating on things that I can point to and say, look, that’s why I’m scared. If I’d found a guy with the same color skin to marry, the dude wouldn’t be Bear and maybe he’d cheat on me. Maybe my kids would be born with something like Down’s Syndrome or they’d be homosexual or they’d be a genius or retarded. There are a million things my kids could be that’s different from what I am. That I nor Bear have experienced.

But I gotta tell ya, the idea of someone treating my kid differently because of the color of their skin makes me want to strip the skin from that person’s face in tiny. painful. strips. And I’m gonna try really hard to become aware of shit. I can’t afford to be ignorant. Even if I never have a kid.