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emmy [AT] curious-notions {dot} net
February 2023
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meaning of life

Yesterday ended fantastically (Tux was rented, wedding rings were received, Celtics won the Finals). As is the case when Bear goes to bed in a great mood, he woke up in a great mood. Except it took some doing to get him up. Getting us up in the morning is my task, and sometimes, especially when Bear is in a great mood, I don’t mind having to get out of bed first because Bear makes it so very entertaining.

So this morning he’s cuddled up under the covers (both sets, it was a cool night), and his eyes are closed through my attempt to wake him.

“Bear, you have 10 minutes or you’ll be late. Get up.”

Eyes stay shut, but the snoring stops.

“Bear.” I shake his leg.

“2 more minutes.”

“Bear, you are seriously going to be late.”

“I was dreaming about the meaning of life. I need 2 more minutes to find out the answer.”

I contain my giggles and sigh. “Fine. But you’ll have to hurry.”

I head back into the bathroom and a minute later Bear comes through the door.

“So what’s the meaning of life?”

“I don’t know. I woke up.”

I’m still giggling.

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.