Processing through dreams

Two nights ago, I dreamed that the last guy I dated and I got married. No, that we were at our wedding. We had a venue full of people, way more than I’d prefer, flowers, fancy clothes, groomsmen and bridesmaids, the whole deal. Yes, this is something we had talked about in real life, and yes, that’s scary.

Anyway, a room full of people awaited us, and the makeup artist had spent an hour on him! He needed a lot of undereye concealer in the dream. When the artist had finished with him, I stopped her and asked her if she would please put my makeup on. She said, “I don’t see why. You’re going to say no anyway.”

I talked her into a little eyeshadow and wondered what the hell we were all doing at our wedding when they all knew I was going to say no. She smeared a purple stick of color along my eyelashes and sent me on my way.

I went to the large room with green carpet, wooden bench rows with green velour cushions, white tulle scalloped along them with pink and white flowers intertwined in it, and walked down the aisle to say “no.”

End scene.

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