Wedding: T-Minus 2 Weeks
You know, signing 3,000 sheets of paper to be bound into a limited edition novella really takes a long time. Especially when your signature is a doodled logo that takes ages to do.
On the plus side, I’ve been listening to Peter Cushing on my headphones, reading his autobiography Past Forgetting, Memoirs of the Hammer Years, as I sign over and over and over again.
The wedding is two weeks away now. I’m not scared so much as cautiously, nervously excited. We did the table plans today (again, as I was signing), and Cathy went in for her final dress fitting yesterday. The reality of it all is finally starting to sink in, which means all the good as well as the bad. Friends I’ve not seen for years. Fooling a redheaded hottie into the shackles of wedlock. All that good stuff.
There’s bad, as well. The people who say it’s “Your Day” probably mean well, but it’s not entirely Your Day. It’s a day of balances and compromises, too. Some people who you love can’t make it, but some people that you’re not thrilled with can. I also find myself thinking more about whether other people will enjoy it than if I will. I also have a fairly complicated relationship with my family. I’m not going to go into that here with any savage depth, but there’s a lot of unresolved emotion, misunderstanding, and simple differences that have fouled the rigging in the past. I’m not worried about how anyone (including me) will behave on the day itself, I’m just aware of the whole emotional maelstrom of it all, bubbling away behind my eyes.
My friend John (French) has probably been the biggest help in calming my nerves about all of this. He was married a few years back, and his unremittingly positive crunchiness about the entire thing treads the knife edge between inspiring and daunting. I think I love him most of all for making the effort. Maybe my headspace is junked up with work and my general melancholic carousel of thinkery, but “It’ll be fine” has never worked on me. I need examples of why it will be fine, and specific instances – preferably with photographic evidence – of times it’s been fine in the past. It’s like telling me you’ve seen Bigfoot, and he’s apparently dynamite at classic video games. Raving about how rad he is at Tetris doesn’t mean a thing until you can prove it to me, preferably with DNA samples and screencaps of high scores.
The same rule applies here. As above, so below.
I’m 30 now, which has thus far been better than every year that preceded it, much in the same way that 29 was better than 28, and so on. It’s a recurring theme, thankfully. But now my friends are starting to get married, and a few of them are even consorting to spawn. A couple of them already have.
Jesus. Marriage. Kids. Kids?
I can’t hit a deadline. I don’t even tidy up my office. I can’t take care of myself, let alone another human. What if I’m a shitty father? What if I can’t even have kids, which is something I hear about all the time now? Even worse, what if it’s a boy, and it likes football? Fuck that noise. What if it’s a girl, and Cathy doesn’t let me call the baby Fuchsia, or Princess? Fuck that noise, too.
Are kids destined to feel the same way about their parents that we feel about ours? Is that fate? Is it one of those Circle of Life things?
I’m not sleeping too well, lately.
I’m going to go make some green tea, then stare out the window, pretending to be soulful and deep.