I've had a problem the past few weeks with the visual aspect of blogging. I have the words piling up, but I'm not seeing anything that makes my heart skip or even hop in place. Aesthetic overload? Maybe. Effects from grieving? Perhaps. I just can't bear to look at another girl in a lacy white dress and all of the fairy tale nonsense that goes along with it, and that's not good when it's your job to do just that.
It's probably just a phase that all brides to be go through, but I'm not 22; I'm 32. I don't have Cinderalla fantasies. These well heeled feet are firmly planted on the cold hard ground of reality, that's fo sho. Cinderella fantasies are for beauty pageant moms and drag queens.
It's the words that express the way we feel and who we are, not photographs of floral rimmed china that I'll never in my lifetime afford to own or a dress that'll end up as moth chow.