inertia

6/24/99

Another day of indoor business. John and I nailed down the moving-truck plans, and we even decided (again) to get married. His parents (I really love his parents, no matter how much I complain) finally eased up and said they didn’t mind so much if J and I got married without them. How nice. So we decided to do it, zip-zip, right after we get to Georgia.

Now it’s my parents. My mom, in fact. She thought it was just great that John’s parents don’t need to be there, since they live so far away and all, but won’t they mind that MY parents are there and HIS aren’t?

For chrissake.

So the wedding was on again today, then off within a few hours. And then I called a few chapels in Tennessee to see about setting up a teensy, parents-only wedding down there. I figured we could ship j’s parents in and drag mine down and DO IT and then I could stop moaning about it here. So it’s on again!

Then I came to my senses...let’s see...I canceled and rescheduled a couple of times, and finally threw my hands up. Fuck this shit. Again. I’m not even surprised by it anymore, not enough to be pissed off. We only push the issue because we really need the extra cash that John gets when we’re married. We’ve had more arguments about not wanting a wedding than we would have if we’d just had the goddamned wedding. It’s a tired argument.

I spent a good bit of this afternoon tinkering with the new index page. I found a bag of marshmallows in my desk drawer and absent-mindedly skewered one on my mouthpiece visualizer. (It’s a handy little brass-player’s tool, basically a little ring on the end of a skinny metal stick. We buzz into it. Don’t ask.) Before I knew it, I was toasting marshmallows over the candles in my little glass votive holders.

Not so yummy! The candles are lavender-scented, and I had to sear the marshmallows crackly-bubbly, really fast, unless I wanted them to taste like soap. Thumbs down.

I need to do some serious scraping-together in my living room tomorrow. A friend from high school is going to stop by on Saturday morning. Don’t think she’ll be satisfied with a quick tour of the basement.