Why is it so much easier and nicer to cry when it's raining? And when I say 'nicer' I don't mean that I'm sitting there hyperventisobbing into my fiancee's shirt and it's just oh so lovely.
"Oh, yes! Tis our favorite past-time!" [read in fake, stuffy British accent].
I mean comforting-nice.
But I did, in fact, have a meltdown in his car parked out at my parents new house in the middle of Gilbert-farm-nowhere whilst the rain steadily danced a wet jig on the roof. Wet jig versus Dry jig, not sure there's much of a difference. Although back-to-back j's and i's looks silly. ji. JI. jijijijijijiijjiij. Not as silly in capitals.
I guess I'm just not built for working as a musician, packing up my room while wrapping Christmas presents for people, finding that those presents seem to disappear and having to recreate them over again with more and more trips to body-clogged Target, moving miles and miles away from my fiancee when I'm just gonna be living with him in less than 3 months (87 days!! Holy *beep*!!) trying to contemplate full-time school for next semester, planning the wedding and organizing the reception and....
Actually, lemme stop it there for a second.
Am I supposed to hate it?
Right, yeah, I didn't think so.
Here's a little scene for ya; Mommy comes up to 4-5 year old Hope,
"Hey Hope! What's Santa going to bring you for Christmas??" Sneaky mom's, always figuring out a way to nonchalantly figure out what to buy at Walma--er, I mean, build at Santa's workshop....[twitchy eyebrows]
But alas, oblivious child Hope shrugs and replies, "Oh, I dunno. I guess I'll just have to wait and see!"
Determined Mother counters, "But what do you want Santa to bring for you?" Ok, now she's getting blatant.
Stubborn Hope, "Mom. I just have to wait and see."
True story. But that's the problem. I don't want stuff. Not enough to identify it in my head and ask for it. Not enough to be able to explain it in any sort of words I've been taught. My vocab doesn't cover 'wants'. Only basic communication, and even then it barely sufficeth.
So riddle me this-- how the FRESGAHERNFIGELDERNUFFLEBAGGINS am I supposed to lay out in complete detail how I want this reception to be? How I want my hair to look, my face, the backyard, the food, the tables, the decorations, the trees and the pictures and the...and, and the cake!! GEEZ, who friggin cares about cake?!?? How do I answer my Mom and my Mom-in-law-to-be and my aunts and my maid of honor and friends when they come up with these questions I hadn't even thought of, much less answered for myself.
In complete and total honesty? I want it to be a night that Mark remembers in complete and utter joy for the rest of his life. I want him to look back and think, "Yeah, that was one of the best days/nights of my life and DARN IT if that reception wasn't awesome to boot!"
Except he wouldn't use 'to boot'. He's not into awkward, fallen out phrases like I am.
I "want" the reception to be exactly what Mark "wants". I want to see his eyes light up when he sees the place and I want that precious, rare, radiant smile to spread all over his face and I want him to still talk about it after we've left and it's all said and done on his own accord. It doesn't count if I have to ask about it.
And so we tried to talk about it today. Tried to collaborate on where to put tables, chairs, food, parking, etc. etc. I tried to draw up a quick sketch of the yard so the ideas were written down in some permanent form. It's 3 months away people, I figured a sketch would suffice! But turns out my dear, sweet honey would prefer to take measurements and make a drawing to scale and pin everything down securely. And that's where the argument started. Mark is a precise perfectionist and I'm just....not. Mark has his ideas and he believes in them wholeheartedly and it'll take a real direct experience to change that. He has opinions.
I see a picture and say, "Oh that looks nice!" and he explains to me why I'm wrong and what he would change about it and after three words I'm totally on board and completely swayed. Because heck if I know I actually wanted that picture in the first place. It just seemed nice at first glance.
And there's nothing wrong with that! I like that he's decisive and wants things the way he wants them. I'm glad he can determine that in his mind. Cuz otherwise we'd be two amoebas floating in the milky way (I don't even know if what I'm saying there is possible, THIS IS WHY I NEED HIM).
But as the groom and being a guy, he wants to just be left out of the planning process. So that leaves all the 'wanting' and deciding to me.
Plus he insulted my sketch.
So I cried. I cried cuz I knew I shoulda given him the pencil and paper and I felt belittled and I'm utterly terrified of defining what I want to others.
I'm gonna get on the couch (that's a vague psychologist therapy reference, btw) and let you guys in on a secret; I reigned in letting on what things I want in life because that means those things are what make me happy. And my happiness is something that has rarely been safe, through all my years living at home. Everyone protects their wants and happy's; they're the good, little, shiny pieces of our souls we really enjoy bringing out and looking at. And without going into too much detail [or any detail, hopefully] can we just pretend for a second that I am particularly defensive with mine? We can just say that any tiny hint of something that gave me the barest flicker of a smile was ripped from my hands and ruined with any and every means possible. Burned, torn, squashed, hated, scorned, scattered ash remnants of that shiny happy I was speaking of.
So I learned to keep it to myself. Deep inside myself.
And now I gotta lay it all down on the table, the most important day of my life as yet to come for three whole months?? You're effing joking, right?
Holy rant. Alrighty! Now that we all know Hope's a crazy and needs a shrink....
Weddings are stressful.
Glad it's sealing me to my best friend who's gonna help me get through it and love me through all the crazy and unnecessary tearful implosions.
Gosh it's nice to find yourself in somebody else. Nice to feel safe. Sharing yourself is nice. No, sharing yourself and having that self loved in return is...NICE ('pleasing; agreeable; delightful').
At the end of the day and after a long, enveloping hug from my fiancee, this is about all I have to say about March 10th, 2012.....
Come at me, bro.
COME. AT. ME.