Amid tons of other complications, in 2006, I paused my life, flew to Anchorage, Alaska to visit Alan while he was in the army, and on the last day, September 28th, we decided to sign a marriage certificate.

I’m proud of a lot of things about my life, but knowing when to trust myself and make a decision that everyone else would think was completely crazy is up there toward the top.

If I’d backed off from that impulse, the entire shitshow that had been my life up to that point might have crumbled. Not because he was so perfect and amazing that he saved me from myself or anything. Hardly.

It was more like the rush that comes with suddenly realizing you’re alive. The free-fall, the last exhilarating breath before you hit water. Marrying Alan was a reminder that the terrible slump I was in wasn’t forever, and things literally change in an instant. With a signature. By maxing out your sad little credit card and buying a plane ticket to Alaska. By realizing without knowing why that the person you’re with is worth your trust.

We’ve fucked a lot of shit up on the way. But today, we’re having a blast.

in the spirit of "if you don't tell the internet did it really happen?"



and also, if we get evicted because of San Francisco Rentpocalypse:

Guys I came home sort of sad and Alan was sitting on the couch practicing some knots, and i sat down by him and he said “I can help. Here, hold this string.”

So I took one end of the string, and he threw the other end over the back of the couch and the cat came tearing out of the kitchen going bonkers to murder it.

It worked. I giggled.