Friday, November 21, 2014

Today is my day off, and I cannot tell you how happy I am to finally sit down with a cup of coffee and my writing. I dropped the ball on NaNoWriMo(a poem-a-day version). Not even dropped but threw it into the ground. I did write through my Pittsburgh trip. Lots of scribbling in the notebook in between moments of going to see a friend or waiting to see another one. Oh Pittsburgh. It was such a great visit. My dance card was full, as I intended her to be(though I didn't get to see everyone). Ah, and the babies--a few new kids on the block. I rocked a newborn in my arms and swooned over the chillest one month old I've ever seen. It's so wonderful to see friends become parents. I did feel overwhelmed by it at one point--late Saturday afternoon. I referenced the phrase "emotionally exhausted" a lot. Just tired and needing that moment to lay on Jason's couch, scribbling in silence. On one page I wrote

                    I am ready to write about you

and that felt good because it is the truth. Then I spent a good ten minutes writing about potholes and favorite streets and trial and error. Heartbreak parking lots and magnolias and how the city gave me great legs. And then when I grew tired of scribbling I drove myself to Spaks. I devoured a seitan melt standing up in Jason's kitchen. Another thing worth noting: I had a bit of a mission to eat all of my favorites while I was there, and this mission was very much accomplished. Thai food and blessed conversation with my insister, that gorgeous n' quick Spak moment, hot bar at the co-op, and a holy jumble of tofu tacos for Sunday lunch. Amen.


Thank you, Mad Mex.

I had a great time. When it was time to go I was ready to do so. I was hellbent on beating the snow heading in my direction but I locked my keys in my car at a Pilot station in Cambridge. Oh boy. Luckily the ladies at the station were amazing, and a local tow company had me back on the road 36.50 and 30 minutes later, and I walked in the door as rain turned to sleet. This is what the next morning looked like:



I'm getting married in one month, and "I'm getting married" still sounds funny leaving my mouth. But yes. I'm committing to a partner in crime for all the adventure ahead. My habibi for always. My best friend. My ride or die. The Beyonce to my...Beyonce. Yes we are both Beyonces.

Because of this, we've had to do this bizarre thing known as planning your wedding. Or "planning the manner of which you will be marrying." J and I are on the same page with this stuff which is the most important thing. It will be small, intimate, simple. Most of our people are flung out geographically--shit, even him and I live in different countries.

I've worried about "doing it right." I don't understand this worry, not one bit. It's incredibly strange how such a big tradition can mess with your head, even when you don't think it could possibly happen to you. I wasn't a child who dreamed of her wedding. I was fascinated with intimacy and falling in love but marriage itself was a concept lost on me. I did enjoy attending them, for the most part. Most of them were gorgeous celebrations. I dig inspiring environments inspired by love. I didn't expect to feel this brief pressure...not until people started asking me how/when/what we were getting married. Then I found myself worrying about disappointing people. Really, Nikki? Of all the times to worry about what other people might think?

I ran with this worry for a short while and then I promptly squashed it. There are things I want. I want to be with my family. I want to feel my heart thumping madly with love when I get married. I want to be with my best friend and do this thing. And yes--I want to look like a badass doing it and I might want a fistful of roses that are a red fresh from the vein. There is nothing wrong with any of this because it is what I want. My want is not wrong. At 33 I am still learning this.

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