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...
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.