Mary + Her Mental Health

Most feminine folk I know occasionally have crazy wedding dreams. Let me tell you about the one I had last night.

First, let me preface this story by saying that every single wedding dream I have is like falling into the nth degree of delirium; it’s like walking into Wal-Mart hopped on LSD. The theme is always the same: utter chaos, confusion, and frustration.

The entire dream takes place at this old church in the middle of what looks like Forgotten and Festering, Missouri. I’m in a really poofy wedding dress. I’m wandering the church looking for a familiar face. The place is packed with screaming, running kids and fast-moving adults in church dress. The building is spilling over with these people rushing around, and not one of them do I recognize. I have bridesmaids in lavender dresses (gross); I know none of them. There’s no one sitting in the chapel. There are no decorations. It’s as if everyone forgot there was a wedding happening, and we’re all running way behind. Everyone keeps talking to me with strained voices like they know me, and actually aren’t all that fond of me.

There are about 78 women packed into the kitchen cooking. I don’t know what else to do, so I start helping them. In my wedding dress. We’re making rigatoni with red sauce in huge silver vats.

Next, far off in the distance, I hear this beautiful organ music playing “Here Comes the Bride.” I remember thinking: well at least we sprung for a really good organist! That sounds fantastic! I race out of the kitchen wondering if I’m supposed to be walking down an aisle right now or something. Indeed, I get there and everyone is standing looking at the door in which I’m now standing. I pause, wondering if I’m just supposed to go. Everyone stares back at me. Ummm…okay I guess I’m supposed to get married now.

I’m walking down the aisle, by myself, with no bouquet, just me in a dress with marinara stains on it, in a very stark chapel with white walls and only gray daylight through the windows to illuminate the “blessed” event. I don’t know my intended husband. Never seen him before. He barely looks at me.

The officiator makes an announcement: “It is a tradition in the Russian Mormon Church to sign separate contracts acknowledging the legal ramifications of the union of marriage.” Hey, is my subconscious mind romantic or what?

Here’s the funny part. Immediately after this announcement I think to myself: Oooohhh! Okay. Now I see. I’m in a Russian Mormon Church in Missouri. I don’t even know what that is. That’s why nothing makes sense to me right now. Cool. I’m good now.

When I awoke my first thought was: I have got to post this.

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