Alright. We're down to the wire. (If 18 days isn't the wire, I don't know what is.) That considered, I think I'm doing pretty well. Jonathan and I are still getting along splendidly; to be a fly our our apartment wall, about 90% of the time you'd have no idea that we're about to have a huge event and enter into a new phase of our relationship. But ohmyfuckinggod, is there still a lot to do.
On Sunday we went through the to-do list, and then doubled it in size. And then, I took it and integrated it into my date book. Because it's one thing to know what you have to do, and a different thing entirely to figure out how and when you're going to do it. Some things don't translate well into specific date book kinds of times; those just get written in the top of page margins, because I know that they're just going to happen piecewise when the mood strikes me hanging around the apartment. But most tasks got written in, and in ink.
This process was really just one long panic attack on about a three minute loop: PANIC! - Remind myself to take a deep breath. - Figure out how seemingly insurmountable task can be handled and really isn't that big a deal. - Look at next few tasks. - PANIC! - Remind myself to take a deep breath... And so on.
There are at least two situations whose disaster potential are as of yet undetermined.
First, there's the limo thing. I asked my dad to find a cool antique/vintage limo for Jonathan and I to ride around in on the wedding day - a risky move, to be sure. But within two days of the request he'd nailed it: a white 1963 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud. Great right? Except that after booking the limo, signing a contract, and sending them payment in full, he couldn't tell me the name of the company he'd booked with - much less provide a copy of the contract he'd signed.
He was of course depending on my mother to keep track of all that, despite the fact that she had no hand in the reservations, and that it was he who had had email contact with them. Well I watched them fight about it and tear apart the house for twenty minutes or so, and then I hopped on the internet and found the company in two tries. (My parents, of course, kept arguing about the situation for another three hours or so.) In my first couple of emails with the woman at the company, I could feel her tension and frustration seeping right through my gmail account. I felt nothing but sympathy - I can only imagine what it must be like to engage in a business transaction with my father. Once she realized, though, that she would now be dealing with me, and that I would do wacky things like answer her questions, I swear I could actually hear her sigh of relief through the screen.
Sometimes I start to feel like I'm bad at handling things. Then I see how they "handle" things, and I feel a lot better - about me, anyway.
So that's one. The other is that we found out on Thursday that the photographer we had chosen no longer works for the company we booked him through. He has already booked another wedding for our date, in fact. So now we'll be working with a photographer who we've never met or spoken to, of whose work we've seen very little. And the wedding is in less than three weeks. So yeah, that's inducing a little panic - maybe more than a little.
Other than those lovely snafu's, it's just a lot of need-to-get-to-it things. Undergarments for the dress rehearsal dinner and the day of. How am I going to do my hair. Makeup - is that going to work out? Like at all? Get my hair trimmed. Shoes for the rehearsal dinner. And so on, and so on, and so on.
And merrily we trudge along...