The day I got married I woke up at about 4:30 in the AM. The sun wasn't up yet, and I hadn't slept more than three hours, but I knew the night was over for me. It was strange to be so anxious because it was an anxiety whose root cause I couldn't pin down. I knew getting married was absolutely the right decision and I knew everything in the ceremony would go well, but I still felt like vomiting.
There's no greater anti-emetic than the motorcycle though, and so I strapped on my leathers and hit the highway. The 90 mile per hour wind in my face certainly helped for a while, but the second I stepped off the bike I was climbing up the walls again.
A few hours later I headed over to the movie theater and set all the A/V stuff up with Brendo Frendo. MCat, the officiant, took this time to gulp down a huge cup of coffee and two Valium. As anyone who knows MCat can surmise, he also had a case of the nerves and, quite possibly, the poops.
Finally, everything was set up, working and ready to go. The lights were hit and the movie was started. This part of the ceremony was really gratifying to me. I worked my ass off trying to make a poignant visual memoir of Sarah's and my respective lives and by the end I had no idea whether it was good or a huge steaming turd. Happily, by people's reactions I gauged that it was a non-turd.
Oh hell, it looks like the good stuff will have to wait until Monday, as I just got my ass swamped with a load of dumb work. Arg.
