Okay. Okay. Okaaaaayyyyy.
So. Much. Happening.
It is probably among the Worst Ideas to get married after an only four month engagement, right after the holiday season. Any other time of year and you'd be fine, but sprinkle in a little Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's action and it's basically a recipe for an anxiety disorder.
Additionally, getting married in the winter also means moving in the winter, carting things down four flights of stairs from my apartment to John's van in sub-zero temps. Throw in some icy sidewalks and it's basically a party. Add Raynaud's and you might as well amputate your hands and feet.
Honestly though, I love it all. It all feels very "us," if that makes any sense at all. Constant love within chaos, or something like that.
On Saturday we went down to my mom's house to drop off furniture, pick up furniture, and begin to decorate our wedding space. On the way down we stopped and successfully picked out and purchased a couch and loveseat. We also got the stamp of approval on our impending nuptials from the sales lady.
The Slumberland lady said she could tell we're "gonna make it" based on how we picked out a couch together. :-) pic.twitter.com/siAYMss6gF
— Hannah Schroeder (@FeetMoveForward)
So after church yesterday we unloaded John's van filled with furniture and these huge boxes that held all of my elementary/high school/college "stuff." The notes, the cards, the pictures, the old journals, awards, mementos, etc. You know what I mean.
Going through it all was entertaining, and brought back so many memories, both good and bad. I ended up throwing most of it away (What would I do with my high school boyfriend's prom bowtie?). Then I came to my journals.
I've kept a journal most of my life, though reading through them, seemingly just in periods of turmoil or disruption. Writing has always been an outlet.
As I flipped through them, I giggled at the lists I had made of my junior high crushes, and how the "worst day of my life" had been when my dog Abby died. (If only that could have remained the lowpoint!)
Then I pulled out the last journal I kept and flipped to February 15, 2008, which just had two words: Joel died. My next entry in the journal was dated June.
I skimmed the rest of the entries in it, which carried me through a move to NC and back, in and out of relationships, and back and forth through the stages of grief. Reading through it now, over three years after my last entry, and I can only thank God that life did not turn out like I had wanted it to back then, and shake my head at the Hannah I was.
I thought about keeping them for my children, but then became horrified at the thought of them reading them and thinking that their mother's behavior would in anyway be acceptable. (I'm also in the camp of some memories are better forgotten!)
And so with almost zero remorse, I filled two garbage bags with mementos and memories of the last 28 years of my life, and carried them to the garbage outside the home where I'll begin to make memories for the next 28 years... and then some.