SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Tuesday, Apr. 01, 2014 @ 1:55 pm
Dreaming



I dreamed last night about getting married. It was awful.

-I was wearing this lovely dress, but it felt wierd because it was floor-length, and I've only worn long dresses three times in my life: two highschool formals and as a bridesmaid (all purple satin).

-It was pouring rain and we didn't have any umbrellas or jackets.

-We'd booked an afternoon ceremony and were running really late and the next group that had booked the venue for the evening were waiting impatiently.

-I hadn't planned anything at all and didn't realize this until the last minute. No flowers, no music, no ushers, no seating plan.

So I'm standing there in the rain, holding up the ends of my dripping muddy dress, feeling my makeup slide down my face, watching scattered relatives trying to sort out where to stand, everyone rushed and frantic and wet. I distincly remember thinking, "Well, this will soon be over, and I'll won't have to think about it anymore."

I'd spent Friday night with an old friend from PG who is in throes of wedding planning. I guess talking with her about it triggered this dream. Her planning is so extensive that she is going to get highlights this spring to test how they will look in the fall, in prep for her September 2015 wedding. This level of planning horrifies me. I'm tempted to suggest that we elope, except that I don't want to dissappoint my parents and my sister and D's parents, at then at that point you may as well invite your closest friends, and my Aunt, and his Aunt and cousin... and suddenly there are 50-60 people that I was afraid to disappoint. What is the point, really, anyhow? We have joint bank accounts, have lived together for the better part of a decade, alternately supported each other through career changes... our common law relationship is currently longer-lasting than the average marriage. I want a ring on my finger because I want to fit in with the other girls at work. I want to be part of that club. I feel left out. I want to feel special. I want to give my mother photos to show to all of her friends. I don't know... I guess it's all superficial. I don't need any of this to prove our commitment to each other. I probably wouldn't even take his last name, because the result is too sing-song. He told me that a lady at work asked him if we was going to propose in Paris, to which he replied No!, so don't go getting your hopes up. I had my hopes up a little bit, sort of like that time he took me on a surprise trip to Tofino. I kept waiting for the moment and before I knew it we were on the ferry back to the mainland. I feel dumb for wanting these things. I feel selfish for even writing about them. If I wanted it that badly, should I not propose to him?

Hah, I'm a master at conjuring stress out of nothing.

Ballet last night, the sun setting against the snowy Lions, feeling graceful, stepping through pas de bourree and seeing myself in the mirror and the tilt of my head and the position of my arms and the music and the sound of our feet on the wooden dance floor. It's this that's important, not the other. It's these moments that I should cherish, rather than dwelling on the rest. These moments of pure beauty, freedom, joy. When I bend towards my pointed leg, the folding of a swan. I come closer each day. Wondering which is the dream, which is reality.

The wedding? It will someday be over, and I won't have to think about it anymore.


Roots | Shoots