An update is overdue. I’ve been back from our East-West trip (okay, Devon and Suffolk) since Thursday but trying to get back on top of work has dominated my time. More particularly, applying for jobs to take me away from work. There’s nothing that makes me so excited as the job I missed out on but I’ve put in a couple of applications and am scouting for more opportunities whilst keeping my fingers crossed for something that appeals as much as The One That Got Away. Ideally actually getting the job this time.
I have just fallen in that the wedding is only 5 weeks away now. Not sure why that’s suddenly come as a surprise but it has. And a week of that I’m away in India with work. I am kind of freaking out. Not sure why or what purpose that will fulfil but there we go. Clearly I’m going to be a fat bride (assuming I don’t contract something dreadful in India. Dysentery didn’t make me lose weight you might recall...) . At least I’ve really done my best not to be a fat bride. In such minor points must I seek consolation. Of a type. As it is, I’m especially freaking out about my dress fitting. It was to be this week but 10 days off, with more carbs than I should have had, will have caused my weight to rocket (I’m too scared to actually get on the scales) and the fitting would be a couple of days before my period is due which would cause more bloating. But. What if I’m the only bride who’s fatter now than when the dress was ordered? What if it doesn’t fit? I am literally breaking into a cold sweat just thinking about it. My heart is pounding and I want to cry. What a wuss.
There is, I am sure, a myriad of other wedding details to sort out (I spent yesterday looking at over 8000 cufflinks on Etsy. That is not an exaggeration – in fact there were 8,128) but I can’t see past the dress fear to work out what they are. If only, IF ONLY I was the sort of girl who lost weight through stress. I’m on a fasting day today (and last Friday and Wednesday and Thursday this week) and I am hungry; stress or no stress, I could seriously eat. I could eat for panic, I could eat for hunger and I’m pretty sure that despite not doing either, my metabolism is still flatlining.
Other things stressing me out: my mum got me in a right tizz about my hen do. Now, this is organised by my two best friends who are, I think, like sisters to me. I don’t actually have a sister but if I did, I cannot believe I would love her as much as I love these women. I trust them explicitly, implicitly and every which way. But my mum started saying what I could and couldn’t wear and I got breathless with fear. As it is, I’m going shopping tonight but I do have a back up outfit in mind. Not a great one but it’s good to have that safety blanket. At one stage I thought they’d planned a ‘bag lady’ theme – which they’d both be rubbish at but which I could probably have quite a choice of outfit for.
And we went to lunch with friends of P’s on Saturday. I had in mind exactly what I would wear, but when I put it on and showed P he said it looked too tight. The skirt was actually a bit big but what he meant –and clarified in slightly too graphic a way – was that it emphasised my horrible stomach. I changed but felt awful – about myself and about my outfit choice and about my wardrobe in general - and these clothing crises are just too close to the wedding day for comfort or sanity.
I’m also suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about being the centre of attention – more at the hen as P will do a good job at sopping up attention on the wedding day (most people there are on his side): how absurd? There will only be half a dozen of us at my hen do so I can hardly be too worried. Not to mention that these are my closest friends. I’m hoping that a zen like calm will descend on me any day soon and persist until well after the wedding. Ohhhhmmmmmm.