I’m gunning for September 26th.

I just want to be laying on a beach in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, drinking some type of tropical beverage and thanking God that the wedding is finally over.

It’s been a long, long time since I broke down in tears, but today was (finally) just too much.

I started off the morning being frustrated, because Stephen arrived late to work. Again. He has this great job at this great company, and blowing it on an extra hour of sleep just seems like stupidity to me. He’s already been late to work three or four times since he started - a month ago.

Then I have to drop Justin off at Dan’s and it’s the last time I’ll see him before he leaves Wednesday for Orlando. That’s not going to sit well with me, no matter what.

Then I arrive at work and, within an hour, start arguing with my mother. Mom’s temping during Kristi’s maternity leave, and I’m not quite sure how either of us are going to make it to September. Today’s argument started with my indignance over my sister deciding to get married two weeks after me (another story entirely). It somehow meandered its way to the fact that no one in my family seems to give a shit that I’m getting married, and ended up being an argument about my family not being interested in getting to know Stephen.

At this point, my cell phone rang.

It took a minute to register that Stephen was calling from his cell phone and not his work phone. He doesn’t have reception inside his work building, so I never bother to try the cell when he’s at work. And, considering it was around 11:30a, I was hoping he was still working.

He had to take a break, he said. I knew something was wrong.

The gist of the final straw to my nervous breakdown was that today was the day his parents promised to pay him back some money that they owed him. This money had been earmarked for the wedding since May (when it was “utilized”) and I’d been eagerly anticipating its return, so I could finish payments to the DJ, photographer, the honeymoon and whatnot.

Today was the day the money was to be returned - and today was the day Stephen received the news that we would get half now and half at a yet-undetermined time in the future.

I’m so very glad there were no clients in my office.

The next string of words out of my mouth started at a normal volume and crescendoed to a scream so loud my voice cracked and throat hurt. All I remember was saying something about how he needed to call his mom and [enter choice words here] and how it had gone on long enough and he had to quit being a [enter expletive here] and I’ve never seen such [enter true-but-mean-thing-to-write-so-the-world-can-read-it here] from anyone! Don’t call me back until this is FIXED!

[click]

I walked through my office door to the waiting area, turned the corner through to the conference room, took the conference room door in my hand, pulled back hard and flung it closed with all my might. I then repeated the exercise with the door to the storage room and the door to the outside.

At this point I flopped to the concrete in a heap and cried. Loudly. For a long time.

I think I was outside about 30 minutes. It felt like just a few. I kept running options around in my head. Okay, we’ll cancel the DJ and the reception and just have cake and punch at the church. Okay, we’ll cut back on the photographer and cancel the honeymoon. Okay, we’ll have it out in my backyard and everyone can bring their swimming suits.

Okay, we’ll just cancel it altogether.

And this was the option that made me get to my feet and reenter my office to call Stephen.

Stephen dismissed this as “ridiculous” and we ended this particular conversation with a hearty “fuck you.” The day dragged on interminably; the Incubus concert we were to attend in the evening held no interest for me whatsoever. Stephen ended up taking half a personal day and coming home and taking a nap. At about 4:30p I gave up and joined him.

His parents gave him the other half of the money with the comment that they’d have to shuffle things around. Although I was relieved, I was also concerned that this is what I have to deal with in the future as well. We’ve had several conversations about it, and none of them have gone well.

The Incubus concert, I must note, was great. Well - except for the part when the 16-year-old kids kept launching upward to crowd-surf behind us, at one point knocking Stephen’s glasses off (and into a twisted wreck) and another time kicking him so hard in the head he lurched forward nearly to his knees. Me? I just kept punching the stoned fuckheads as they swung their hiking boots at my head. It was a great release - although not quite as good as watching them fall to the concrete on their heads. Sadly, I saw no blood.

Maybe the moral of that story is I’m getting a little too old for the pit. Dammit.

Long day ended,
michelle