Our queenslander is quiet.  One solemn lamp warms the minty-paneled walls, and candles still burn on the dinner table.  The night feels more silent than normal, or perhaps that is my exhaustion closing in. Rick and I mirror each other on our mauve couches, lounging.  Silent for once in a few days, digesting our huge Tibetan dinners. Feeling tired from an impromptu lunch climb of Mt. Coot-tha on our bikes.  It’s peaceful.

Since my return from Vietnam a few weeks ago,  I feel as though I stepped off a peaceful boat, walked down the pier, and right into a busy street where I got sideswiped by a bus.  A bus full of wedding stuff.  I’m attempting to peel myself off the road but I keep getting flattened by more traffic.

Okay, okay.  I’m being a bit dramatic.  But seriously, why don’t more people elope?  Weddings are such a racket operation.  Highway robbery.  It’s appalling.

I love a good party, but as soon as a white dress is involved it gets all kinds of slimy.  I think I feel about weddings the same way I feel about Christmas – great idea, but totally co-opted by the machine.  Make a registry, have engagement photos, send out save the dates, book a planner, join a gym, spend, spend, spend…  

Vomit.

I looked over at Rick tonight and said, “Remember a month ago when we didn’t spend every waking moment making huge life decisions? That was nice.”  And yeah, I’m not only talking about the wedding here.  If we were just planning that it would be much easier. It’s more like plan a wedding; move back to the US – but where?; should we buy a house?; honeymoon?!; jobs; family; should we get a puppy?; oh yeah, buy a dress for this wedding; figure out where we want to have it…

We can’t make any decisions.  I’m like a panic attack waiting to happen.  It’s vile.

But at least I like the guy who is tenuously helping me peel myself off the roadway…