a good nine years

Nine years ago, I woke up and it was my wedding day.

I had ramen noodles for breakfast and it was really beautiful outside which I told myself was because the universe was celebrating my impending nuptials and I took a nap and when I drove to my hair appointment I listened to Beck's Midnight Vultures.

And I walked down the aisle and Paul was crying and I was laughing and later, after rings and the cake that wasn't mine and dancing we crammed me and my enormous dress into the cab of Paul's truck and we drove home and it was our home, which was weird in a nice way.

Nine years later, the home is still ours, and ours in a nice way and it no longer is weird, even though this home is about three thousand miles away from the first one.

And while I am in no way where I thought I would be nine years after that day (kids? house? what else is grown-up-ish that I don't have?), I am entirely certain that I am exactly where I should be, and I am with exactly who I should be with.

Did I say that I am in no way where I thought I would be in nine years? I guess that's true, with one important exception:

I knew, knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I would love being married.

And I was right.