marital resolutions

On July 10th, I got married.  On July 11th, I made a marriage resolution to never again cry over small things like having to buy a second marriage license because of a single ink slight or having to swim through endless legal bologna to change my name in all of the necessary systems, or the haunting mistakes surrounding the beginning of H.K. and me that have resurfaced in my conscience.  July 14th through the 19th, I failed my resolution.

Post wedding depression, I discovered, is actually a thing, like postpartem depression.  My business-week long PWD, however, had nothing to do with realizing I was trapped with this man, or with adrenaline withdrawal, or with no longer being the center of attention, as the classic syndrome characterizes.  My emotional imbalance came from recognizing that this man actually married me; he is the one who is stuck -- I successfully conned him into thinking I was the greatest thing on earth -- and I don't know what to do with that amount of happiness and fortune except worry that he will someday regain whatever rationale I've temporarily numbed, and want out.  And that is way, way too much paperwork to even think about...

I would like to think that I've come to my senses, and found a way to cope with being the most fortunate and undeserving twenty-something in the galaxy.

The wedding was beautiful, the guests were amazing, the "minister" could not have been better chosen and the adventure afterward was phenomenal.  There are no adequate descriptions.  It was all far too sweet and far too short.  I demand a replay.

As an aside, the top of the cake was devoured with no reservation over the course of the honeymoon.  Being covered in dark blue final frontier-like fondant, it died the Throughput a rich green color for the remainder of the trip.  Vegan cake was a brilliant decision, because other than the odd color I suffered no nausea/hot flashes/constipation or stabbing pain until the evening we returned home.  Success, almost.

romantic ruminations and rhubarb

H.K. and I answering a questionnaire and trying to figure how we're going to personalize our wedding ceremony:

HK: 'What do you most look forward to about life with this person?'  The summers. If you have seen Raga in a bikini you know what I'm talking about.
Raga: I said, "everything we haven't experienced yet."  I look forward to everything because I get to share or experience it with you.  ... and that is the lamest thing I've ever said.
HK: the question says, "most"
Raga: I know.  It's all the most.
HK: the summers aren't better?  I think the summers are better.
Raga:  I think I'm so painfully love-struck that it's all just a wash.

I know it sounds like we're having our own personal conversations here, but we're really on the same page.  Truly. 


It appears that I have eaten one-too-many salads of late, and my supposedly non-existent ileal stricture has beaten me down.  Therefore, I have taken a personal day today in order to mollycoddle my belleh in the interest of surviving (dare I say, enjoying) my wedding day.  My beloved cake chef is making the chocolate kahlua tier a vegan one .  In his honor, I will be dining on rice, chicken and the goodies featured below for the next eight days.

Here's what happened to that rhubarb I mentioned:

I may or may not but almost certainly did over-bake the crust, add sugar to the egg whites too quickly whilst beating the meringue, give up the meringue-beating too early and then forget that I had left it all in the oven after adding the meringue to crisp; but these rhubarb custard meringues were nonetheless delectable.