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. . . floating in my head. I'm frantically trying to do all of the things that one needs to do as a groom for a wedding that is approaching faster and faster, it seems. I know there are some grooms who just had to show up. I thought I would get away witht he same arrangement but, no. There are consolations to an overburdened fiancé who is desperately straddling the span of her families problems with her personal problems and the impossible task of pleasing everyone without giving up everything which pleases you. Weddings, I don't know. I haven't gotten to the actual flurry of events that it is. I'm still in the preparatory stages of it, but from here it seems like a thorn in my flabby side. A formality of dubious importance in comparison with being married itself.
I'm actually excited for everyone to be there and for many of the great things we hope to happen but trying to plan it and make sure things are taken care of that need to be taken care of is a test of our ability to cope with stress. Some of the coping strategies aren't that helpful.
1. treats - ice cream, chocolate, cookies, etc. These are really good things but the fact that I already feel pretty embarrased about the droopy appearance of my torso combined with the anxiety of putting it on display for close inspection for a woman I am attracted to only makes me feel more stressed after the fact and the only solution is more ice cream, and so on.
2. escapism - I'll just forget about it for awhile and watch basketball or a DVD. This can be a major problem if my team loses. It doubles the feeling of failure.
3. I don't know, this list was spontaneous and I haven't thought of a third item.
So many other things. I am many other things than a man about to be married and all of those things exist together, and sometimes they even pass eachother in the hall.
This very moment i am supposed to be preparing a talk to give at church this Sunday. I't Mother's Day and they want me to speak about mother's. "They." Also, my mother is coming into town tommorrow. I thought I would never see her until I had kids of my own for her to visit. She will be at church to hear what I have to say, but I have not had time this week till now and I'm dribbling this over my lip like spittle and onto the internet, and that is taking up this responsible time I should be preparing my words. Tommorrow I will have to go to work. When work is over I will have to pick mom up from the airport and we will have dinner together. I will show her a little bit of my city. I will show her my apartment, which is clean except for my room. I have not been here many hours since the week began (or since last week ended for that matter) and I have not spent the hours cleaning. I will show her my street, where tonight I found 100 syringes spread out like chicken pox on pavement. There will be a lot of pecking and scratching tonight where I live. I will take her past the French and past the young liberals to the roof where you can see the fog roll over the hill and split around my neighborhood, where we appreciate the sun. I will take my mom to meet my new mom. The one that is "in law" as they say. "They." I don't know what they will talk about but I will be praying that they do not mention the wedding. The last thing I want them to talk about is the wedding. That's the one thing that is a common among us. We are all equally worried that nothing will be carried off and only occasionally visited by our better senses which have learned by experience that almost everything is carried off in the end to a greater or lesser degree and there is rarely cause for the worry which plagues us.
There's so much of everything in my head. And I should be thinking about mother. Perhaps, my own mother even. And I'm thinking about my brother. About a dialogue we only share in vague whispers. As much as we can handle without bursting. Just happy that we were able to talk. That it wasn't an effort. That we are family. Thinking about my father. About how I scratch myself to find him and my brother starts to bleed. And somehow, this is about my mother. About how she stands there in the middle holding all of these strings in her hands and praying they stay taut, because they are the only things holding her up. I've seen her. Crying, fighting, laughing. I know she is a god.
. . . floating in my head. I'm frantically trying to do all of the things that one needs to do as a groom for a wedding that is approaching faster and faster, it seems. I know there are some grooms who just had to show up. I thought I would get away witht he same arrangement but, no. There are consolations to an overburdened fiancé who is desperately straddling the span of her families problems with her personal problems and the impossible task of pleasing everyone without giving up everything which pleases you. Weddings, I don't know. I haven't gotten to the actual flurry of events that it is. I'm still in the preparatory stages of it, but from here it seems like a thorn in my flabby side. A formality of dubious importance in comparison with being married itself.
I'm actually excited for everyone to be there and for many of the great things we hope to happen but trying to plan it and make sure things are taken care of that need to be taken care of is a test of our ability to cope with stress. Some of the coping strategies aren't that helpful.
1. treats - ice cream, chocolate, cookies, etc. These are really good things but the fact that I already feel pretty embarrased about the droopy appearance of my torso combined with the anxiety of putting it on display for close inspection for a woman I am attracted to only makes me feel more stressed after the fact and the only solution is more ice cream, and so on.
2. escapism - I'll just forget about it for awhile and watch basketball or a DVD. This can be a major problem if my team loses. It doubles the feeling of failure.
3. I don't know, this list was spontaneous and I haven't thought of a third item.
So many other things. I am many other things than a man about to be married and all of those things exist together, and sometimes they even pass eachother in the hall.
This very moment i am supposed to be preparing a talk to give at church this Sunday. I't Mother's Day and they want me to speak about mother's. "They." Also, my mother is coming into town tommorrow. I thought I would never see her until I had kids of my own for her to visit. She will be at church to hear what I have to say, but I have not had time this week till now and I'm dribbling this over my lip like spittle and onto the internet, and that is taking up this responsible time I should be preparing my words. Tommorrow I will have to go to work. When work is over I will have to pick mom up from the airport and we will have dinner together. I will show her a little bit of my city. I will show her my apartment, which is clean except for my room. I have not been here many hours since the week began (or since last week ended for that matter) and I have not spent the hours cleaning. I will show her my street, where tonight I found 100 syringes spread out like chicken pox on pavement. There will be a lot of pecking and scratching tonight where I live. I will take her past the French and past the young liberals to the roof where you can see the fog roll over the hill and split around my neighborhood, where we appreciate the sun. I will take my mom to meet my new mom. The one that is "in law" as they say. "They." I don't know what they will talk about but I will be praying that they do not mention the wedding. The last thing I want them to talk about is the wedding. That's the one thing that is a common among us. We are all equally worried that nothing will be carried off and only occasionally visited by our better senses which have learned by experience that almost everything is carried off in the end to a greater or lesser degree and there is rarely cause for the worry which plagues us.
There's so much of everything in my head. And I should be thinking about mother. Perhaps, my own mother even. And I'm thinking about my brother. About a dialogue we only share in vague whispers. As much as we can handle without bursting. Just happy that we were able to talk. That it wasn't an effort. That we are family. Thinking about my father. About how I scratch myself to find him and my brother starts to bleed. And somehow, this is about my mother. About how she stands there in the middle holding all of these strings in her hands and praying they stay taut, because they are the only things holding her up. I've seen her. Crying, fighting, laughing. I know she is a god.