Clumsy

Clumsy.


Clumsy. Say it and listen to that word. Form the syllables yourself and, there you have it, is my wedding planning experience.

I'm not built with the frills and dreams. I came to be engaged by happy accident- meeting some man in tights in the woods. 

This weekend I had a screaming fit with Dave. I'm aware that much of it has to do with feeling inadequate. People don't look at me and think, "wife". I'm not sure they look at me and think "woman" necessarily. I don't need or want that to define me. But I want to be able to plan a goddamn wedding. 

Still I feel tinny, small, rifling through page after page of wedding options. 

Honestly, all I want to do is talk to my mom. I have many comparable outlets, friends, family. But I want my mom. She never expected me to get married. I don't think she wanted me to. 

I think a large piece of me wants to ask her if it's ok that I fell in love?

That I became a teacher instead of a transient actress?

That I grow my hair long? That I want to have children? All these stupid, trivial things that add up to this.

I still only want to make her proud.