I’m doing what society expects me to be doing.Īnd that freaked me out a little, because I forgot the most important thing: It seems that having a jumble of international jobs in ten years isn’t appealing to conventional employers. I’m applying for casual part-time jobs and getting rejected at lightning speed. Jared and I have been building a little nest, albeit a rented one. I wanted to be cycling through a field of French wildflowers, baguette tucked under my arm, the winds of freedom whispering through my hair.Īs I write this, I realize that it sounds like I’m getting cold feet about the wedding. Breathing in traffic fumes, eating questionable soup on a sidewalk, scrubbing sandal-shaped streaks of dirt off the top of my feet.Ī few days later, it was Europe. I was hit with an urge to be in Southeast Asia. Why was I wearing a dress I didn’t particularly care for that was way out of my budget? Why, when the woman told me its price, did I nod as if I am the kind of girl who appreciates French Chantilly lace? (If you are that kind of girl, this is not a criticism. Standing there, looking at myself in yet another white flowing gown festooned with sparkles and/or embellishments that I specifically said I did not want, I wondered what the heck I was doing. It certainly doesn’t need to cost an average of $2400, which these dresses did. I have no illusions about picking out a wedding dress: it doesn’t need to be life-changing. On my 32nd (ohmygod! 32!) birthday, we went to a bridal boutique.Īnd as I tried on dress after dress, I realized that they were all the same. We checked out all of my favorite spots in Newcastle. It started after my mom came for a spontaneous visit. Only this time, it’s a little bit different. Let me preface this post by saying that I love our apartment.
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