Things that have materialised since last blog include:
-
Invitations and most returned RSVP’s- Bonbonniere gift tags
- Wedding bands
- A shoe order
- A small problem with alcohol
- A small family drama
Things that have disappeared include:
-
My sanity - Time, oh dear john, so much time
- A few packets of mint slice from the secret office stash
Amongst other things…
I believe some, if not all, of the new things have largely
contributed to the disappearance of those items on the second list. See
previous post re: paperjams and juxtapositions . Oh, and the alcohol problem
may have been a pre-existing condition but there was a definite flare up.
I’d like to point out at this time, that I’m fine again,
mostly back to normal after what was quite a spectacular mental breakdown.
Like, I completely lost my shit. I can’t really pin it on one particular thing
that brought it on, and I definitely didn’t see it coming but boy did it come,
really in the space of one particularly busy and irritating afternoon at work.
Possibly wasn’t helped by the decision to blow off the gym and spend some
quality time with my old friend - red wine, in conjunction with an offsite
meeting, also of the particularly irritating kind.
Anyway, like I said, it came on quickly, and by the time I’d
hopped in my car and left work to the time I’d driven to the petrol station
just a couple of minutes away, the waterworks had started. From that point on I
pretty much became on emotional wreck, stood there sobbing, in the rain while I
filled up my car with its premium unleaded.
I cried the entire way home in a hysterical sobbing sort of
way, not even caring about the sideways glances I was getting from the cars
stuck in peak hour traffic next to me. I need a sign that I can just put up in
times like those: “Meltdown in progress, feel free to stare but approach with
caution.” A loyal BM met me at home after receiving my distress call,
interrupting my flailing around the house trying to disguise my horrid, blotchy
face. We agreed that my face was not a quick fix and headed for the nearest
wine bar with a dim and ambient atmosphere. I cheered up for some time and we
ate and drank some wonderful morsels and drops, but, after much prodding from BM to “just
lose it, just fall apart!” I very much obliged. By the time I went to pay the
bill, the tears were again involuntarily running down my cheeks, provoking a
very polite and cautious “are you ok?” whispered from the waiter. “She’s fine.
She’s getting married,” offered BM. “Oh.” Came the response like that was a
completely acceptable excuse for my irrational, persistent and very public
falling apart spectacular. Getting
married = behave like a complete dickwit and get away with it 100% of the time.
To this point, I had diagnosed myself with mild bubble invasion.
Remedy: get the f back in the bubble, repair puncture and reinforce vortex,
carry on, and never, never leave bubble ever again. Ever. Totally realistic way
of dealing with things I know.
Anyway, a lot of time has passed since that little bump in
the road, and we (me) are now seriously considering our strategy as the finish
line approaches (and much more mentally stable). Will it be a sprint finish? Or
more of a controlled, relaxed stroll with perhaps a bit of skipping thrown in
as a testament to our pure delight as we revel in the lead up.
Truth be told, we have certainly had a few little hurdles to
overcome in the last few months. Definitely nothing major, but somewhat
significant to an emotionally fragile poppet bride. Now we are through it for
the most part, I can look back and wonder what all the fuss was about.
A trip down south for a hair trial resulted in mild panic
after a cold roller set was applied in order to achieve a ‘glam’ look as
opposed to steering my “dry and porous” tresses down a more boho path – not me (according
to this complete stranger).
The scene, set in the ghetto part of Busselton in a home
salon, involved a small child, recently returned from a trip to the tip with
his father. We were unsure whether they had gone to the tip to dispose of things
or in order to acquire some new possessions, but after the hairdresser told me
the best places in the South West to hang out at bulk rubbish collection time,
we had more of an idea. We were given another clue when the child beat down the
door to the salon, bursting with excitement to share with his mother the new
addition to the toy pile. A small rocking chair complete with foot stool. A
demonstration of just exactly how the chair rocked ensued, and the small child
instantly revealed himself for what he was. A tiny bogan. Any doubts were
quelled when BM ventured into the main residence later to use the loo and came
across the tiny bogan, perched at the kitchen bench eating dip, for lunch. I
imagined he would subsequently adjourn to the living area to practice the art
of reclining in his new street verge chic, mini rocking chair, imitating the
behaviour of his father whom BM suggested bore an uncanny resemblance to the
serial killer guy from Wolf Creek.
Needless to say, the trial was less than a resounding
success. I would need to be finding myself a new hairdresser with 3 months to
go. What do they say about the best laid plans?
Anyway, time has moved on, stress levels have fluctuated and
I’ve landed myself an awesome replacement hairdresser who totally ‘gets’ it.
The shoes have now arrived. As have some other bridesmaids
bits and pieces with packages arriving daily at reception and most of the admin
staff predicting the intended recipient of the package before the courier has
uttered my name. In fact their complete outfits are now ready to go. We just
don’t know if they fit yet. My dress is currently in production with the calico
toile having now been fitted, accompanied by a couple of stern lectures about
weight loss and diet. That’s the thing about a couture dress. It’s made to fit.
Exactly. No room for any weight loss or weight gain. As per my previous post,
at an initial dress appointment/interview it was expressly stated to me that I
had 3 months to get to my desired weight/shape. I did lose some weight, I think
(mostly from the boob area – awesome), but after having made the mistake of
mentioning it to the girl at my measurements appointment, I was going to have
to pay more attention to what my body was or was not doing. I made some fly
away comment about eating/not eating which she picked up on straight away “Have
you lost weight???” she snapped? Caught off guard by her violent outburst I
stuttered “I – I – I I don’t know? Maybe?”
“Well are you stable now??” came her reply. “Ummmm, yes?” i really wouldn’t
have a clue, my body does what it wants. I can exercise religiously and have
the cleanest diet ever and put on but tuck in to the secret biscuit stash at
work on the daily, and exist quite happily on the red wine diet and appear
quite boney. Body and I have a mutual agreement, it does what it wants and i do
what i want. We live together happily and harmoniously like that without causing
each other too much grief. “Well”, dress lady continued “stay away from creamy
pastas. And coffee.” I looked at her in disbelief, it may be a little too late
to be giving me diet tips love considering a) I’m a 30 year old woman and b) I’ve
already exceeded my time period allowed to me by your boss to get into desired
shape! So this is it and you’ll have to work with it! She then added the
exceptionally helpful advice “although chocolate just seems to go straight
through you when you’re getting married...” F’in SWEEEETTT. Mint slice here I come.
Music to my hips! Ha. Luckily I have chosen a dress that is slightly more
forgiving around the problem areas just in case all that chocolate doesn’t happen
to “go straight through me”.
All in all the last few months have probably been the most
difficult since Wedding arrived on the scene. Stress does come into play and it
effects all of us in very different ways. I’ve discovered I’m the one who has
it all under control, which I do. And now I’m not sure if I’m actually stressed
because I’m stressed or if I’m stressed because everyone is expecting me to be
stressed. I’m just not sure. In fact it’s quite fortunate that we’re almost
there with the planning, as I’m beginning to lose all ability to make a
decision at all.
So much has happened that I know I just really haven’t done
this blog justice. You have missed out on some very important and funny stories
but I just don’t have TIME to fit it all in. I promise I will endeavour to be
more punctual with my blogs in the remaining months. Yes MONTHS. As in 1 and a bit.
All I can say is that those of you out there who know an
impending bride to be. Look after her. She is fragile even if she won’t admit it.
She won’t ask for help. She doesn’t need help. She needs compassion and
understanding and a packet of chocolate biscuits.
