Anyone remember Arg the Orc? Adam? Davie? Anyone?
::Stomps in, reeking of onions.::
Well, here I am, one month and one day later. I think that might be a record! (The sad part is that said record would be shortest lapse between posts, and not longest.) It is most appropriate, I believe, to at this point state with vivid clarity: "I am well aware of the drama convalescing on other journals, and I mean not to bring it here. It's as the great Smog said, 'Help yourself. There's plenty, and to spare.' I can do without my own hoard. I have thus far refrained from saying my piece, be it to clarify, apologize, explain, or defend myself. Furthermore, I neither have nor will do so in the future. It would be a pointless motion, to the benefit of none of the involved parties, and I am not in the habit of effecting perfunctory exercises in futility."
I lied. There is one thing I would like to say. "Thank you, Rachel. I sincerely appreciate it." Okay, I'm done.
I'm going to pretend, now, that it is not common knowledge--AAARGH! ::facepalms:: My fingers are soldiers; they have their orders. Divergence from the plan is absolutely non-negotiable. ::grumble:: Mutinous little bastards. I am going to pretend . . . now . . . that it is not [::tick:: 'o.O] common knowledge that I am getting married, and so I am going to share it all again, for the first time! After all, who would deny the bride her boasting rights? Rat bastards! Have at you! I will have my cake and EAT IT TOO! And so, without further ado:
I'm getting married!
It's the most miraculous thing, really, and while some reactions went about as well as I had anticipated (which is to say, not well at all), others have been remarkably supportive, and even--dare I say it?--excited! It would seem as though I have lost the right to welcome people to the Hole. ("Welcome to the Hole," I used to say. "This is rock bottom, ground zero, nowhere to go but up. I will be your tour guide. While I hold no official affiliation with the Hole, I am well-acquainted with the landscape and will be available to answer any questions you may have concerning the Hole. Don't even think about trying to escape. The chains are far too thick.") Back to reality, right.
My mother, first and foremost, has surprised me by appearing, unexpected, in my corner of the ring. (No pun intended.) Maybe it's because I told her she wasn't allowed to say anything unpleasant without saying two pleasant things first. Maybe it's because she genuinely supports my decision. Maybe it's just her job. Whatever the reason, I am more than happy to have her backing me. After all, no little girl that walked Barbie and Ken down the aisle ever pretended Barbie's mother was cursing them from the front pew. It just isn't part of the ideal sketch. Today, in fact, she and I are headed off to look at what will probably end up being my chosen dress. We perused the bridesmaids' possibles yesterday, had coffee, joked, had a blast. She's been quite the grounding force as I find myself suddenly inundated by necessary decision-making. "Who? What? When? Where?" I'm pulling my hair out. "Want do you want?" she asks. "Let's just take this one thing at a time." And so I am. Trying. Anyway.
There are others, of course, who are being quite the saving graces. Alex and Tiffany have helped prod me away from fashion faux-pas, as I have never majored in that subject. I'm just not fashionable, I suppose, and it's never bothered me. But apparently sparkly dresses are not appropriate for my outdoor ceremony, and so they took me by the hand and led me away from the section where Dillards keeps their fairy wings and patted my head, politely, yet firmly, asserting their higher knowledge of such things. It's just as well; I don't want to give Fox's family a collective heart attack, and even have stauncher members of my own family to take into account. And then there's Jess, poor thing, so recently a soothing voice when I was flipping out at an absurdly late hour. Really, she has the patience of a saint. Saint Jess. I like it. Yes, she too took my hand (not literally, of course, being that we are located on opposite ends of the country) and gave it a firm squeeze, played the part of the voice of reason and offered me sound advice when the only thing going on in my head is wedding bells.
And then there's Fox, whom I have gratefully spoken with an average of 1.75 times each day. Those conversation are the reminder of what this is all about. "This is the ultimate goal!" they say. "Everything else is just filler--pomp and circumstance. Only this matters." And then I find that I can breathe again, and even smile and joke and laugh and think about something else for a time. I'm finding more and more that it's so easy to get swept up in the event and lose sight of that goal, which is the last thing I want to do. Sometimes, when my eye makeup is running and my shirt is on backwards, it's just so damn tempting to snatch up great handfuls of my puffy hair and scream, "Damn it, forget it! Get me to a courthouse and I will wear bluejeans!" I have said it, actually, but there's always that nagging Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come that forces me to see my life with my grandchildren, discussing the circumstances of my marriage. Do I want to talk about the frayed hems of my Luckies and my Birkenstocks? No. So I carry on, sometimes brave and resolute, sometimes terrified and frazzled, but always with the goal firmly in mind.
I have tried, with one exception in an earlier post, to keep sap well away from this journal, and so I will maintain that trend and end that paragraph, except to say that I have happy thoughts. If I had a pinch of pixie dust, I could fly.
Moving on, the trip to Portland was incredible! Adam, Davie, Fox and I lived it up for a marvelous week. We toured the downtown district and all its eccentric shops, rode the Max (Yay! Public transport rocks!), ate out, ran along a freezing beach that didn't have white sand, rode horses, visited Davie's rejected culinary school, failed to meet Fabio, got lost in the open-air market, all the while cracking Online Gaming jokes about which members had quit or joined the party, played Scattergories . . . . Adam and I are far too like in mind for comfort's sake. 'Ware! There are two of us now! The only damper on the entire vacation was bloody Apu, the asshole quickie-mart Hotel attendant. He was rude and creonic and a towel Nazi to boot. I mean to write him a strongly worded letter, and ever-so-sweetly direct his attention to the copy I will be forwarding to the Better Business Bureau. I keep forgetting to do that! Not to worry, though; humor and acid jibes behind his back robbed Apu of any clout he might have held over our party. To be honest, however, we didn't have to be enmeshed in some great adventure for the experience to be enthralling. It was the companionship that I remember most, the perfect mix of symmetry and dynamic differences that is truly worthy of an adventuring party.
And then the time to say farewell drew nigh. (I can't help the maudlin phrasing. It's innate.) The night before our departure date, Adam signed us up for what was quite literally the best dinner date of my life. It was on a boat! (Which means I was on a boat, quite a feat.) Admittedly, it was the experience that all the todo was about, and not the food, but it was incredible! And then, when the coffee ran temporarily dry and the plates were carried away, having decided to take a breath of fresh air, we climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck. Never have I had such a feeling in all my life! No words can describe. Staring from that lofty perch into the distant horizon, somewhere beyond the wayward river's course whose resting place is, like a rainbow's end, obscured by distance and imagination--that, God and my friends, is an exhilaration I do not believe can be found elsewhere, for any price. For that fleeting moment, I was Phalkin Grayson, and all the world, with all its endless possibilities, lay at my feet, just waiting for me to seize the moment. And then that moment surfaced, awed me with its utter perfection, shocked me with that awe, and I accepted.
And so I, Em, Captain of the LDH Fast Sinker, would like to report a shift in the currents, a change in course. So clap on sail and bear-away, ladies and gentlemen! And cheerily, mind you! This ship sails for home, though not in the direction I had anticipated. And if the seas are rough, well, she has a strong hull and her crew is sure. Now bring me that horizon. Over and out.