Last night I dreamed that it was our wedding day and we were totally unprepared. Our ceremony officiant backed out and some stranger was going to marry us. We hadn’t rehearsed anything and hadn’t confirmed any of the vendors. My dress was poofy. I forgot to pack the right shoes, and no one could find them for me because I’d stored them somewhere that only I knew about. Neither of us had had bachelor or bachelorette parties. I sat at the end of the aisle instead of walking down the aisle. Scully was there and I was chasing her all over the place trying to keep her from eating the flowers, even though no one was supposed to see me in my dress yet. The hotel was huge, the size of the resort where Lunchboy’s ill-fated company retreat was, and there were weddings going on all over the place. All the other couples were prepared. They had beautifully set tables, gorgeous flowers, perfectly outfitted wedding parties, and flawlessly coordinated receptions. We, however, were just trying to pull our wedding off without the whole thing falling to pieces.
In reality, we finally booked the honeymoon: ten days in Hawaii— I cannot wait. This weekend: rings and invitations. Lunchboy, glorious consultant that he is, created a Gantt chart tracking all the remaining wedding tasks so we know when things are due and who’s in charge of getting them done. Brilliant. Such organization should really keep the anxiety dreams at bay but I am me and given an opportunity to freak out, in waking or sleeping life, I will take it because that is, apparently, how I roll.