stuck on vows.

Tomorrow is the big day. A big day of many big days, but one of mark in history in most people’s lives. I’m no longer nervous. No longer stressed. Mostly just ready for this. We got our marriage certificate the other day and it amazed me at how easy it is to get married. All you need is ten bucks, an ID and the name of the state your parents were born in. Wala, you’re pretty much married, dudes. It looks all fancy and official, but is such a fragile piece of paper and makes me really wonder about the tradition of marriage and just how old it really is. I’ve had pretty much every sort of reaction and feeling towards marriage ranging from disgust to wonder and just going through it have realized that marriage is what you make it. It can be individual and can be as simple as you throwing a big party in your crusty little squat with cheap PBR and punk rock music and unshaven armpits. It’s whatever. And since we involved so many different people in ours, it’s theirs just as much. Which I like. At first I was having a cow over the most mundane shit. I am also hormonal, so whatever. Now I’ve let go. The fact that neither of our rings fit us doesn’t bother me. The fact I don’t have my vows written the night before I’m supposed to recite them doesn’t bother me. I know I am in love with this man and I know I am prepared to commit to this bond, as serious as it is. I get misty eyed thinking about it. The secret little pockets of being in love that don’t present themselves until you really start prodding. Those secrets pull on your heart strings, man. Everything these days is. I am in love with the atmosphere, with the smell of our apartment, with the taste of his skin, with our new spider plant, with my new in-laws, with my friends, with everyone and everything and everywhere all at once. I feel like a giant glob of sickly sweet love mush that just might infect you if you let her put her fingers in your hair. So beware you haters of love and happiness.

Also, I must admit today I did a terrible thing… I bought a pair of airwalk brand “crocs”… You just don’t understand the desperation of a pregnant girl’s swelling feet in summer. Yeah, I may look like a tool, but atleast I’m comfortable… or something…