Halloween is just around the corner, goblins are hiding in the bushes, witches are flying around on their broomsticks and vampires are lurking around every corner. None of this terrifies me more than the looming menace of approaching deadlines that are oozing out of every nook and cranny in my mind.
In the newspaper business, deadlines are a way of life. I have weekly deadlines, daily deadlines, hourly deadlines and deadlines for my deadlines. None of these bother me and in fact I feel as though I handle them with efficiency and aplomb.
I am also a college student, therefore even more deadlines. Deadlines for homework, special projects, group meetings and not to mention tuition payments. These deadlines are also handled well, with little to no procrastination on my part. Once again, none of these deadlines scare me.
The deadlines that pertain to my wedding are an entirely different story. Not only do they continue to pile up on my mental secretary’s desk, she has also taken an extended leave of absence. Which leaves me to deal with them all and needless to say I am procrastinating.
I feel as though I have accomplished nothing although I know I have. I have made arrangements with all sorts services. Yet still, looming in the distance, is all that I have not even started on, let alone finished.
In addition to the ever present worry over the mounting bills and the logistics of the weeks and days preceding the event, contemplating the actual wedding day keeps me awake long into the night. It’s more terrifying than the dark, and I am stone-cold petrified of the dark.
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As I lay awake in bed at three-o’clock in the morning, writing this column I try to imagine what that day will be like. My imagination runs wild and all I see is the potential for disaster. This is NOT cold feet. I am in no doubt as to my choice of groom. It is not the thought of marriage that has me quaking in terror, but the wedding. I have been told countless times that what I will remember most about my wedding day are the things that go wrong. Therefore, it is logical to assume that if everything goes according to plan, I won’t remember a thing. Judging by the nervous breakdown I feel creeping up my spine, I probably won’t remember anything anyway. By that time I will more than likely be heavily medicated and under the care of a skilled psychiatrist.
So, what have I accomplished since my last column. Not much. One, I scheduled our first pre-marital counseling session with our preacher, Donn Adamson. Which after writing that I realize I didn’t schedule it, Donn did. Second, I have decided when my bridal shower will be so that there are no conflicts with the upcoming holiday season. Third, I ... well there isn’t a third check in the done category, yet.
One thing I have come to realize is that this is a great learning experience. As my boss says, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” Well, when this is all said and done, I’ll save the world with my super powers.
My experience now allows me to offer advice, so to all those newly engaged women out there here it is: Don’t under any circumstances plan your own wedding, get a wedding planner. Budget for one, beg someone, borrow someone or steal someone else’s wedding planner. Then all you’ll have to do is say, “I don’t want that”, “I do want this”, “We should probably include that, and *snap* it’s done, like magic, Abracadabra. Because let me tell you, my magic wand is cracked, my fairy dust makes me sneeze, and there is no way on earth I am boiling together eye of newt, tail of rat and pinch of toe jam. The smell alone would kill me. Plus I have a hard enough time boiling an egg.
Until next time, if my nerves can handle the pressure that is mounting.
Lisa Malone is a staff writer for the Daily Journal and can be reached by e-mail at email@example.com or by calling 573-431-2010 ext. 177. She is sharing her wedding plans with our readers.