Pass the Xanax

Should it be that with 242 days until my wedding the nightmares have already begun? The tossing and turning, talking in my sleep, waking up in a cold sweat; could it all be here to stay? Can someone please tell me if this is normal?

The other night I had a dream that my mother was forcing me to marry a gastroenterologist. He was tall, lanky and had dark hair, and wore enormous tortoise-shell glasses (not the trendy kind, the dorky kind). He was boring. Off in the wings, watching me with Mr. Weirdo Gastroenterologist was my fiancé. I was reaching for him. My heart ached.

To add to my misery, the flowers were absolutely awful. Gigantic vases filled with murky water and dandelions destroyed the room. On one table one lonely tulip floated in a vase with a pathetic green string tied around it. I cried and cried. My wedding wasn’t even in New York City. It was on an air force base.

And then I woke up. Happy to see that M was still beside me but shaken to the core. Who was this gastroenterologist that invaded my beauty sleep and can he please never come back? I don’t even go to a gastroenterologist. If mystery man was an endocrinologist then maybe I’d get it. On the phone last night AS provided me with some deep analysis (something to do with past relationships) which further shook me to the core.

I’m starting to see how this bridal thing becomes stressful. Lack of restful sleep equals bags under my eyes. Bags under my eyes equal ugly pictures on my wedding day. Ugly pictures on my wedding day equal many tears. Ah!