82

We woke up in a much different mood this morning. My alarm rang at 7:15. I crawled out from the comforter at 7:20. Egg, tomato and avocado sandwiches were on the table at 7:40, with a side of strawberries and pan-fried oatmeal granola. Joe crawled out from the comforter and sat across from me at his café table at 7:45.

There wasn't much talking. There wasn't much kissing or smiling. We were morose, and since then the feeling has gotten heavier. Joe sits next to me at Crêpes: etc. once again. His nose is deep in training materials for his summer teaching job. I thought I'd be driving to Ohio at this point, but I got in an extra hour or two so that he could use my computer to finish his assessments before the real training starts on Wednesday.

His stress levels are rising, and I'm worried that he'll have a panic attack like he did while working three jobs and finishing up his thesis this past semester. I worry that he won't sleep, won't eat enough vegetables or drink enough water to counteract the coffee he'll be drinking. He's worried that I'll hit rush hour traffic multiple times on my drive from St. Louis to Wapakoneta, Ohio. He's worried that I'll think too much about the wedding or making money or the amount I'm able to write. He's write.

We keep patting each others' knee, reminding us that for at least the next hour, we're here. We're together. When we tried to put a calendar together for the summer, we realized how many holes there still are–how many aspects are completely out of our control. This means there is no way of knowing when we'll be driving toward each other again. For now, the days (months?) will pass, metaphorically driving us toward each other and the wedding and times when we don't wake up sorry that a week has passed without our realizing it.

The music is loud. An accordion and tinny piano are blasting French feelings over the woven chairs and displays of gelato. The feeling is familiar–because of the mornings we've spent here and the places like this we hope to spend many mornings over the next year. But it's not comfortable. It's distracting. It's a constant reminder that this isn't real right now. We're hiding away from an overcast sky and a long day of driving. We're tricking ourselves, and it's made us both very tired.

At least this countdown has moved down to 82. At least I'm driving home to family, to hugs and help and employment and homemade food and movies on Saturday nights after evening Mass. At least it's summer, and this rain is dying. At least there's a veggie hot dog to buy and walk home eating while we sip cherry soda, one more moment of city living before pretending that we're not crying a little.

86

Yesterday was my first St. Louis Cardinals game and Joe’s first trip to the new stadiums. A woman in his program, Heidi, bought tickets for a group, and we spent the afternoon with Joe’s M.F.A. and M.A. friends.

His time as a student is drawing close to the end now. Tonight, we’ll see his friends again for the annual reading for graduating creative writing students. And then he’ll graduate and then I’ll leave and then we don’t know yet. But we can see the endpoint for now–only 86 days.

Before we hit up the Metro train to the stadium, we stopped in a Design Within Reach. We pass the store frequently while we're out and about in the Central West End, so we finally took a moment to stop in. Then man working was excited and passionate, making it very, very hard not to buy the sectional and 1940s original desk we both fell in love with.

He kept asking about our lives and being excited for our French escapades... and he kept showing me all of these amazing 1920-40s collections and original pieces. I'm weak for the time period, as our wedding makes obvious, and I'm glad I didn't have $2k in my bank account. Oh, someday... and then on that someday I'll feel horrible that I bought a desk instead of feeding an entire African village.

It’s odd how grown up I felt, how cool, buying us a beer and nachos to share. How settled and happy I felt passing the Bud Light between us and screaming at low pitches in between. I walked back to our seats and had one of those existential moments when you feel like this really is you, living your life and piecing things together.

As we took the Metro train to the stadium and after, we decided to use it for a trip out to the mall. I’ve tried to make sure that each day of fun includes a bit of wedding preparation. Yesterday was gift and champagne flute shopping.

Little did we know that the average champagne flutes cost, oh, $20 to 40 each. As we walked between stores, we rattled of the to-do list and tried to find expenses that could be cut back. These talks usually lead to raised voices (mine) and exasperation (Joe’s). But yesterday and this morning, when the budget talk included a spreadsheet, we were quite calm. And we found these at Anthropologie:

 They have an awesome yellow/gold splash. That and the ridge in the glass make them feel perfectly vintage and match the 1920s time span. We both liked them, and they're weren't as expensive as everyone from Lenox to Martha Stewart down at Macy's.

I’m afraid that I’m a bit too calm here. I had so many plans this week, so much reading. But something happens each time I open my book. I fall asleep. I worry about all of the things I should be in Ohio taking care of. I get distracted by watching Rome (men in short skirts and gorgeous women).

What a relief it will be someday to really have my life in one place instead of Muncie/St. Louis/Wapak or St. Louis/Wapak/Evansville or Wapak/Evansville/France. I think I’m going to clean the apartment. Feel like I’m moving or accomplishing something.

88

Joe and I are sitting in Crêpes: etc., our favorite breakfast spot in St. Louis. We're celebrating my week here with a stop at one of our favorite places each day. We realize this is not fiscally responsible, but we also realize that these are probably the only seven dates we will have for the entire summer. And we're also really close to the wedding. And we've opted out of graduation presents for each other. We're working this week hard.
This morning, Joe and I woke up, shared our bizarre dreams (He was running around naked; I was baking smoothies into snowman-shaped cookies.), laughed and nuzzled into each other. I asked how long he thought it would take, how many morning waking up this way, until it stopped feeling like we were on vacation. How long until being together could finally start to feel like real life?

I am stuffed to the gills with strawberries, nutella and crêpes. My mind is stuffed with scenes of Parisian street cafés and markets. We're getting really excited. Tonight will probably be our budget-planning evening, and rounding out the rest of our calendar, to make ourselves feel better. Luckily, Joe will be gone all day working. This gives me time to take a four hours for a nap to recover, then work on invitations...

About half of the invitations are done. About half have some sort of question mark with them. About an eighth have made me curse and throw away an envelope. I hope we have enough envelopes. I hope that this evening, while I continue addressing, Joe will put the stuffings into the invitations instead of playing a round of Madden like he did yesterday.

Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of my boy for being able to beat the Giants in the snow under horrible ground conditions. I'm proud of his number of touchdowns, but I'd rather not have all of the papercuts for myself.

two hundred eleven

We are moving. Less than two hundred days. We welcomed in the year of our wedding together, feeling a bit down, and cheers-ed with mugs of water before falling into bed early.

Now that we're in the Year of the Wedding, we're kicking it into high gear. I've been a bit of a bear (I know that's surprising), and Joe is always asking to help. We're getting tuxedo forms around, visiting the church for their seal of approval, figuring out how to order dressed when the girls live in three different cities, and figuring out how to finish up all of this long-distance business.

Next on the plate is a series of business appointments:

another meeting with church (getting our test results)
calling the woman who'll handle decorations (ordering 1 billion feathers)
ordering wedding bands (being very, very traditional)
mapping out our flight and everything that entails...

which looks something like this:

booking two-way flights
(canceling the return flight later, which saves money in the long run)
figuring out which visa to get
figuring out if Joe gets his assistantship
buying train tickets to Nancy
finding an apartment to take the train to
buying rail passes to get ourselves around

There is an endless list of to-do's to take care of to bring our lives together--for the ceremony, the reception and real life, if France for a year is real life. Now that we see the end goal, can really spread it all out on one calendar and mark it off, we're working together, harder and faster than ever.

P.S. Only joking on the feathers... sort of. There will be feathers. But tastefully, classically. Of course. Come on. Have a lil' faith in me.