Our wedding’s roughly a month away. I’m not exactly sure when that happened. Final payments have been paid. We have our guest total. The decorations are finished and tucked away in plastic totes for transfer to the beach house. (After we realized we only ought two owls last year – complete and utter brain fart) We even have the favors assembled and in the plastic totes, ready to go. There are still a few stray tasks left on the calendar (my fiance’s vows, which I know he hasn’t written despite several months of badgering), but we’re in the final homestretch. Custom (or is it tradition? Maybe obligation?) states I should be excited or at least nervous by now.
I’m not, though.
I’m tired, which I think I’m entitled to at this point. Other than the few tasks I’ve placed on my fiance’s task (Kuiil goes on top of them – our private joke), I’ve handled the bulk of the work. You can translate that to the majority of the stress. (Okay, I was going to shoulder the stress, no matter what – it’s what I do) I’m allowed to feel tired. I knew how much work was going to be involved; that never frightened me. I’m a dedicated worker, after all. Feeling tired is a badge of honor. It means I survived the process intact. More to the point, so did everyone else. (And, believe me, there’s a list of people who came close to funerals)
I think the problem is I’m more upset than excited; more disappointed than anticipatory. I knew back in March that things weren’t going to fall out as planned, but there’s a difference between theoretical thought and reality. Talking yourself through worst-case scenarios A-Z differs from watching them come to fruition. Eventually, you run out of internal pep talks, and they become mechanical recordings on auto-repeat.
And then the guilty side of your brain joins the fracas.
What right do you have to feel bad? Friends aren’t even HAVING weddings this year, and you’re upset yours isn’t turning out the way you thought? No one’s wedding is approaching “normal” this year – get over it. (As if the words “get over it” have ever actually worked in the history of the phrase) I bury my disappointment in cheer and the phrase, “I understand completely.” Never mind the words stopped having any meaning months ago.
Was stocking up on hand sanitizer and soap part of the original plan? Nope. Did I expect my father to gift us with two digital forehead thermometers to check guests as they enter? Definitely not. Was I planning to spend every day of the week in the house wiping down counters and surfaces with disinfecting wipes? No. Have I confronted all of those things with a gracious smile? Yes.
Do I spend at least ten minutes looking at the stack of RSVP cards sitting on my desk every day? Yeah. (Never mind that there’s no reason to even keep them at this point. The responses are logged in my binder, the preferences are marked in my notebook, and I have the answers burned into my brain) Have I avoided responding to an email because I can’t muster a bright, cheery response even through misinterpretable text? Yes. And does my guilt eat into me every single night? Of course.
So, no I’m not excited.
Probably a terrible thing to say, and I’m sure I’d catch shit about it in normal social circles. Do I have doubts about one aspect of the ceremony or reception? Of course not – I planned everything years ago. We’ve thought through the contingencies and made sure we’ll keep everyone safe. It’s not how things were SUPPOSED to go, but do I have doubts it will be anything less than it should be? Of course not.
But am I excited? No. I’m just tired. Tired and sad. Maybe talk to me in a month and ask me then. My answer may be different then.
