In Which I Blame Royal Wedding for All of My Issues

Well, okay. I'll admit it. I've set the bar unreasonably positive. I am an optimist, but there is a limit to the muscles in my cheeks that pull a smile. I started this blog with all intentions of happiness, but I don't love happiness. I love the bittersweet. So, expect that instead. Also, it is impossible not to journal a bit.

That said, I've been ignoring you- intentionally. Because, lately there has been one thought in mind. And I'm embarrassed by it, so I think maybe I need to broadcast it and get it out of my system: 

I am horrified that I am never going to get married.

Isn't that ridiculous?! I am a wonderful, thoughtful, beautiful, smart, talented, strong woman. I know all this already- even though verbal reinforcements never hurt- and yet I'm convinced that I will die alone and without children.

What is this about? When I was 17, I distinctly remember HOPING that I would wait until I was at least 30 before I got hitched. And now, I fall asleep after crying (I'm not even exaggerating) to the heartfelt summations and wedding day pictures at the end of a TV show dedicated to the search for the perfect bridal gown. I've been obsessed with engagement rings. And my darn computer betrays me by telling the internet my online habits and fills every page with adds for wedding paraphernalia just perfect for that wedding day that my heart is scared will never come and my mind is ashamed to obsess over.

I've always been a girl who knew she would get married. I wasn't a prissy girl, I liked making mud potions and I looked more like a Hanson brother then an Olsen Sister. But my Barbie had elaborate weddings and my favorite movies were those scratchy old musicals where Fred Astaire danced his way into a heart and down the aisle. I was engaged, essentially, when I was in college to a boy who ended up becoming unavailable due to his draw towards priesthood. Since then, I have scared away boys one-by-one with my desire for wedlock. (Not that there have been so many.)

Here's what I've decided. I blame the movies. Like I said, I grew up on musicals, all of which end in matrimony or at least a kiss (and everyone knows that once you kiss in a musical it's only minutes until a wedding). So, from this I am corrupted to believe in an ideal man that is not only open with his emotions enough to sing and dance his love, but also straight. And I get a month long timeline from first-glance to ring-on-my-finger. On the other hand, I watch When Harry Met Sally once a month. And this movie tells me that it may take 10 years for my love to develop, which dooms any male friendship. Because, some part of me actually believes that, as long as he remains single, the boy I dated in middle school and I are meant to be. How healthy is that?

Thing is, those are the movies I most want to watch. It's not entirely clear to me WHY I want to surround myself with idyllic and irrational stories of love. I know that I am suspending my disbelief in order to enjoy watching them. I know it's not real life, but I still want to believe it can happen to me. And maybe even happen to me a little bit like how it did to Sleeping Beauty. Seems to me that I'm in one of those movies already and I just haven't come to the climactic point yet. Still, I'm only five weddings into the plot line of 27 Dresses.

So there it is. I don't have a witty conclusion for this one yet. Only that I'm obsessed with my loneliness as much as I am the idea of marriage. I guess I know- even as I google "vintage engagement ring"- that my intense desire for this is the biggest hurdle I've got to jump in my search for that love I believe I'll find at the end of this race.