It is as if a bubble bursts and releases toxins that mess with your mind. Messes with time. You don’t even realize it at first. Everything is hunky-dory and you carry on in your relationship as if nothing has changed. Well, other than the fact that you’ve decided to be together forever. At least, that is the goal. Our goal.
Messing With Your Mind. It is funny. Everyone wants you to have the wedding you’ve always wanted. They go out of their way to let you know that you are the one calling the shots, making the decisions. They are there for you to direct and assign. Yes my Captain. No my Captain. All eager to make suggestions, to lend a helping hand. I too have offered my services to friends that were getting married. “Anything to help,” I would say. No one, save my Oldest, Dearest, and Darling (ODD) friend has ever taken me up on my offer (the eve of her wedding, we baked and frosted umbrella shaped sugar cookies).
I do understand why brides don’t recruit every living, breathing person in sight. I believe, and bear in mind, this could just be me, brides become OCD. And while my sweet cousin Roo would argue that I’ve always been OCD, the theory makes sense. We do want to have the wedding we’ve always wanted. We do want things to go on without a hitch. And we, I mean I, I don’t want to come off as the beastliest, brat of a bride in history. Your mind, you see, plays tricks on you, working along side her old buddy time.
Messing With Time. Time, that creepy old guy that keeps showing up at New Year’s Eve parties. He is a tricky one. Slippery too. Initially you think you’ve all the time in the world. Hey, I’ve got 9 months ahead of me. Plenty of time. I’ll be organized, you think. I can set a plan in motion that will leave me the most relaxed bride in the history of the world. No worries. No last minute, oops I forgot this or that. Everything will be perfect.
Okay, so jump ahead seven months to find me looking about wide eyed wondering what the H-E-double toothpicks happened. It is Father Time, that wile old coot, he has sifted the days and months so smoothly that I‘ve not noticed their passing. I begin a list of the items still left to do. Wait, there are too many. I start another list that contains the things that are already done. Not enough. (See what I mean by OCD?) Think, think, think. What would the ramifications be if we postponed the wedding, oh, I don’t know, another six months? But I’ve always wanted to get married in November and the honeymoon is booked. Do you think Prince Charming would be up to waiting…? Nope, didn‘t think so.
What to do? Carry on, I guess, and pray, pray, pray things fall into place. Oh, and hope that no more toxic bubbles spring a leak.