Weddings

Weddings. They're so beautiful. Things are just beginning -- a new flower just budding, filled with hope, potential, dreams, joy. There are new memories to be woven, new joys to be found. And that joy is so catching. Have you ever noticed how people cry at weddings though? Tears to show teh hurt that this change will have to bring.

I want a wedding. I want a simple, flowing white dress that's half-way decent, unlike lots of dresses now. I want to walk down a flower strewn pathway with shadowed with graceful, bending trees, maybe weeping willows. I want all the friends and family I love to be there, to share my joy. And I want to have that special friend to share my life with, to build a home with, to encourage, to be encouraged, to laugh with, to read and study with, to be with, to hold hands with. In some ways I can't wait.

And in some ways, I don't want any of it for a long, long time. Maybe I'll go back to that "boys are icky" philosophy like I had back in kindergarten. . .

Dreams

So I had two really weird dreams last night.

One was about Dustin (boy at school) and I had been chosen as top students or something to enter this contest. And I won. The entire thing (nationally and all). And there was this huge encyclopedia on my desk open to this 3 page article. . . all about me. Except there wasn't really a lot of truth to it, which was rather disappointing. It was entitled something like Mid-Century American or something. And then I was called to the office. and everything in the dream was in browns and khakis (sort of like a brown black and white).

And then there was another really weird dream. I dreamed that Robert Elliot and I were going out, which was really strange. Of course, he's a little strange. We were walking around talking about some weird African custom he had been reading about when he suddenly reached out and grabbed my hand. And he just went on talking, as if nothing had happened (which would be very much Robert). And then randomly he began to tickle me. Maybe he'd been talking to Chris. Who knows. Anyway, he met up with me at the front office of the second dream (this dream came first and then the encyclopedia dream).

Ostriches and Fruit Cake

Sometimes I hate communication. I want to avoid some things, some problems like last year's fruit cake. I want to be an ostrich. Sticking my head in the sand could work, at least for a little while. . .

ok maybe, not. But it was a thought

Change

Change.
It's hurtful.
Happy.
Good.
Strange.
New.
Exciting.
Frightening.
Exhausting.
Trecherous.

Inevitable.

And I'm just going to have to accept that fact.

Sometimes I wonder if I've done the right thing. I wonder if my heart can ache so badly if what I've done is for the best. I did not know I had so many tears inside of me. Even after I thought I'd stopped, more still came. From where? Where does my body store them? How? It's not as if I have a lot of excess fat in which to keep extra tears. . . My head says I've done the right thing. My heart still questions. My heart still doubts. But since when have feelings been reliable?