“Fuck flowers. Fuck everything. We’re ordering about a hundred LED twinkling lights and I’m gonna stick gold washi tape on ’em and sprinkle them everywhere and call it a night.”

“I’ve never had a move that felt so little like being jolted from one space to another and so much like something clicking into place.”

“There’re only 135 hours or so until I get to Los Angeles and I can feel every single one.”

“I am still crying an amount that for me is significantly higher than average, what’s up with that?”

“After explaining who Shannon was in relation to me, we were let in to go through airport-like security around 7:40, I was handed a laminated piece of paper with ‘Applicant 1’ on it and an accompanying feeling of having won at waiting in line, and we were let up to the floor for the interview at 8.”

“I spent a few minutes wondering whether that means we should be married faster, i.e., the day after whenever I get there, and then I looked at the calendar and realized the timeline is as tight as it can be (and maybe too tight as it is) and I took a really deep breath and anyway it’s probably going to be fine. But it was one of those moments where it felt a little more like leaving Canada is giving something up.”

“When I woke up Saturday I was going to get a lot of stuff done and I was just pretty focused on that and by mid Sunday afternoon I had cried for about 12 of my weekend waking hours.”

The thing about my future immigration marriage is that it’s an immigration marriage but not an IMMIGRATION marriage. I still don’t want to know what save the dates are though.