6/30/09

The Speech Sweats

Because this wedding has consumed my life for the past 3 or 6 months, I have a lot to say about it. So, consider that a warning for upcoming posts.
The day my sister arrived on my doorstep to share the news that she was engaged to be married, I fell into restless nights of sleep, interrupted only by cold sweats and nightmares about the color of my dress, or a detail I'd forgotten (like my shoes, or all the flowers). I even had a dream I was so late to the wedding that all the bridesmaids had already walked down the aisle without me and as my sister prepared to make her entrance, I ran to the window of the church to look in. And the the worst part was when I realized everyone was wearing pink and somehow I stood outside the wedding wearing a bright blue dress!
And eventually, my sleep patterns fell into a cycle. The most recurring was the one where I'd lay my head on the pillow and then my mind would fervently turn over the many details of my childhood, memories of my lil sis with her fiance, stories to share, and some to keep private. I'd jump out of bed and race to the kitchen to make notes, jot down a word or two I wanted to include, a story or a phrase that seemed important. My husband thinks I am crazy.
And so, like every bizarre artist, I returned to my speech countless times. Writing first what could only be described as the worst speech in history, inspired by some terrible internet versions of bridesmaid's speeches. And then striking the entire cheesy collection to write it again, and again. With a fourteenth draft printed and packed for the wedding weekend, I knew it was only a matter of time before I was forced to complete this once in a lifetime opportunity. My one and only chance to share with our friends and family my love and respect and pride for my sister and her new husband. And what better time to finish it than 1 in the morning the day of the wedding, right? So that's when I could sleep again, at 1 a.m. the day before the wedding. Procrastination is the best of muses.

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