In my first year with Nick, I had a recurring nightmare. I was in a mall, and Nick and I were getting married. The mall was not dissimilar to the one built in my hometown in the 90s - lots of beveled glass with brass details, abstract contoured jade and granite sculptures, the thick smell of popcorn and food court Chinese.
Our guests had clustered around a fountain on the lower level, impatiently awaiting the ceremony. But I had decided to bail, and gathered up the yards and yards of fabric making up my mysteriously waterlogged dress, and ran. But I was escaping via elevator, and I had to wait for the elevator to slowly descend to my floor, ding-ing the whole way as everyone stared.
I have not had any wedding nightmares since Saturday, in fact I haven't remembered any dreams at all. Bemoaning finishing my Ambien prescription, Brigit gave me some tea. This tea! It cannot be legal. It feels more like drugs than drugs.