To Whee or Not to Whee

Greetings from halfway down the second 90-degree drop on the great big rollercoaster ride of impending union.

I'm feeling rather calm and taciturn this morning, so maybe I'm on one of the loops. Right at the top of the curve. Stuck upside-down.

The rest of the pieces are all falling into place. M. and I both found our shirts yesterday, mere moments after I'd finished declaring that Banana Republic was Officially Dead To Me, and in the very same hues that we'd hoped for. We bought paper for the programs. We bought new underwear. We realized that the color scheme from our invitations is the same as the color scheme for our tent decorations is the same as the color scheme for our shirts. Luckily, Old Navy doesn't sell boxer briefs in Citrus Green and Sky Blue. We've got our Participant Gifts. One of which was all dented, which prompted me to fire off a letter of complaint to the meek and mild manager at the Participant Gift place which included a hastily drawn diagram detailing the extent and location of the damage - - a response which nicely matched my newfound interests in letter-writing, wedding-planning and obsessive-compulsing, but which may have turned mild manager's hair white. We've got our party favors. We've reestablished meaningful contact with Goth DJ - - come to find out he had a collapsed lung, the same of which cannot be said for the butterfingered Participant Gifts guy - - and agreed on a tentative and mutually-loved song list. We're making place cards.

I've been soliciting advice from other Married Friends, sometimes actively and more often passively, as they attempt to squelch the fire blazing atop my head.

My married friend FBZ suggested that we Delegate Tasks to minimize wedding-day stress. I'm not so sure that this is a good idea for someone with my Control Issues, but I'll try. It may turn out to be a bit of a slippery slope, but if anyone complains that they don't want to help me pull up my new underwear, I'll just have to direct them to her.

My married friend Bronx Betty normalized, just like a good Social Worker Friend should. She also gave me our cream and sugar set, which is always a helpful distraction for the greedy.

My married friend Bobby suggested that this should be the fun part, where I've done all my planning and can just sit back and relax and enjoy. Clearly, she doesn't understand that even when I am dead and buried I will still have at least a few things remaining on my Internal To-Do List but, again, I'll try. Actually, I did try, just the other day on the subway. I sat right there on the subway seat and willed myself to stop considering the merits of sixty-seven paper lanterns over sixty-three, and By Golly she was right, it did feel kind of nice, and for just the briefest of moments I took my hands off the safety bar and tentatively raised them up in the air even though I could still feel the certain and troublesome rumbling beneath me, and I felt what it could be like to just let myself Enjoy It, and it was good. Short-lived, but good.

I would end with something sage and optimistic about how I'm going to post this entry and then go try and Enjoy It again, but I think everyone would agree we're beyond that.

The good news - - to continue a metaphor - - is that I'm pretty sure M. and I have moved beyond the part of the ride where we're fighting over who has the better seat, and into the part where we wrap our arms around one another and dig our fingers in and hold on for dear life.