There's been a lot going on around here. The stuff in my life and the stuff in my head have resisted my best attempts to write about them, and its frustrating. Hopefully this post breaks the dam and I can wax eloquent more frequently about things that I often think really mean little to anyone but me - but you keep showing up to read, so what do I know? I'm just an old broad.
Before SG hit the road in September we talked about our future together and the obvious answer was some planning towards wedding bells the following summer. Then his start/end/start/end dates for the jobs he was going to do changed - more than once - and planning something became rather problematic. Then he suggesting meeting in Vegas over the winter, which frankly when you're my age and haven't been qualified to wear a white wedding dress in quite some time seemed like a perfectly reasonable option. Then the discussion of how to include loved ones came up, and then we started talking about a quick affair in between the September and November jobs. That's where we were when he left, and I was keeping myself occupied in his absence by thinking of wedding plans, then calling him to see what he thought of this idea or that.
At some point in October, I honestly can't remember when, things got a little haywire. Distance, weariness, job stress and myriad other things put downward pressure on us. Someone might have gotten grumpy and uncommunicative. Of course, that someone might not also have been feeling his best, working 12 hour days and living off restaurant and microwave food. Seasonal depression, which is a guaranteed annual event, had its way with both of us. Trying to plan became a chore, a point of contention, an added stress. We wobbled. Wedding plans were put on hold - not cancelled, but definitely not on the plate for this year - we agreed to just table the discussion until he was home.
We spent the rest of our daily conversations being loving and supportive and counting the days until we could be in the same zip code.
He got back last Tuesday. We spent two days remembering the thousand things that are so amazing about being together - the ease of things, the chemistry, the deep discussions and the delight of companionship. We cooked and ate and held hands and smelled each other's skin. We touched and hugged and crawled under the covers, emerging for water and air now and again. Thursday we took the lid off the marriage discussion. We talked and talked about where we are and where we want to go and what we might want to do about that. And then we drove down to the courthouse and got ourselves a marriage license.
It will be a small, casual affair with a few family members and friends. But even so, its amazing all the things that need to be done if you are doing more than eloping over the border to the Chapel of Love in Couer d'Alene. Most of that is my mother at work, insisting there be flowers and hors d'ouvres and proper champagne glasses. Hell, I just wanted to find a dress I liked. I did, too -- and when the final choice fell between "bridal" and "hot" - trust me, I chose HOT. When you're 45 years old and you find a dress that makes you look hot, you buy it.
So I'm all set with a beautiful blue dress and a kickass pair of low black pumps. But you know, me being me, things just can't go that smoothly.
With someone warming the other side of the bed, getting up to run has felt like less and less a priority the last week. I managed to run on Wednesday and meant to do it on Friday and then on Sunday, but it just didn't happen. So this morning, I doggedly set the alarm for black-as-night-thirty and dutifully put on my running shoes and vest and threw a leash on T-Bone when it blasted me out of a lovely dream.
We hadn't gone very far when I realized my selected route was much darker than I had anticipated. I thought there were more street lights along that way, but clearly I have questionable accuracy when it comes to memory. And about a half mile in as I was considering the need to turn around and find a more well-lit path, it happened. I tripped over the concrete edge of a square manhole cover and fell, wrenching the holy living crap out of my left ankle in the process. I managed to crawl up onto the curb and suppress my moans so as not to wake people in nearby houses. T-Bone, bless his heart, sat as close to me as he could, then curled up on the ground, watching every car that passed with a concerned glare. When I could talk without sobbing I called SG (always, always always take a phone with you when you run) and asked him to come get me. Then I passed the time until he got there mentally beating myself up for being so damn stupid and possibly ruining my ability to even walk on our wedding day, much less finish my C25K training plans.
Fortunately its just a bad sprain. My plan is to keep it elevated and iced until about 2:45PM on Wednesday so I can put a flesh-colored elastic brace on it under an opaque pair of panty hose and actually wear my new black pumps and walk on the damn thing. I have every confidence that this plan will work and I will not hear a word to the contrary.
We can have the sidebar discussion on just how much crutches suck later. If I have to talk about it now I may just weep, and that's not in the cards today. I refuse to be down about this. It hurts and it looks like hell, but its a small radar blip in what is otherwise a joyous and bliss-filled week.
So if you have positive thoughts, prayers or energy to send our way, we'll take all of them you can spare.