Last night I dreamt I married Paul in Vegas. We had a big wedding, but my parents weren't there because they were gambling. Then things went wrong. I walked down the aisle in a beautiful white dress, but had forgotten to take my purse off. My big, hot-pink-with-thick-black-strap purse. And the best man sat in a huddled ball at my feet, rolling around the alter. Then we went into the casino, and all these people were congratulating us. And they wanted to see the ring. But I hated it. And I thought, "How could I marry someone who gave me such a crappy ring?" Then Paul hugs me. God, he's a good hugger. I miss that. I miss the Paul I thought he was. I miss going to Dragons games. I miss cooking him dinner and burning myself so bad that my skin bubbled up. But you know what? I would take it all back. I had the best summer with him, but it just wasn't worth it in the end. I thought he was this perfect person, and it was too bad we didn't meet at another time or under different circumstances. But then I saw how he really is. And it pisses me off that I was fooled. That I let myself be fooled. That I didn't listen to my gut feeling. I mean, when he came back, I didn't want to be with him. He annoyed me. He was too loud, too fratboyish. He smoked, drank too much, I hated his humor. And yet, I overlooked everything. And I still don't understand why. But sometimes, when I'm in bed at night, or I see something deaf-related somewhere, I miss him. And then I'm immediately mad at myself for doing so. I'm ready to leave. To move across the country. To leave everything behind and start completely new. And that time will come. Just not yet.