It's 2 AM....
... and I'm trying to figure out how a person can be tired beyond endurance and still not be able to sleep.
The wedding is in a month.
What wedding, you say?
Why, Mine Own is getting married. To the Sainted Fiancee. The one he was engaged to before, and then broke up with... until they found their way back to one another. A little older. A lot wiser. And utterly ready to get married. It's quite a romantic story, really, if you believe in romance. I do. I 'get' them. Still, I couldn't help asking, when he first told me, "You have each other. You live together. You share everything. Why get married? Why right now, when you're both struggling to establish yourselves?"
"Because it's time," he said. "Because we're ready."
Then he said that he wanted to get married here at home. Just family and friends.
"How lovely," I thought. "Just my kind of wedding..."
Then he said, "We've set a date. October 24."
This was two months ago. Even back then, I knew it would be a tight schedule. The house, you see, has suffered a lot of deferred maintainance. And the worst, most overwhelmingly awful part of it is the spacious basement that the groom himself has been using as his private apartment. He trashed it.
"OK," I said. "I'm honored that you want to get married here. But if we're going to pull this off, you're going to have to undo all the mess and wrecking you've done."
"Of course," he assured me, newly serious, newly mature. "I'll do anything that needs to be done."
That was two months ago.
The man is willing - both of them are - but he's got a new, consuming job, and the bride is working a full time job and a second part-time one. Project management is needeD. That'd be me. That, and lots and lots of labor. I'm a pro painter; they're amateurs. I can visualize the whole project beginnign to end, I'm like a walking PERT chart. They see things job by job, and when they finish one, they take a break.
I underestimated the number of friends they have. The guest list is currently at 65, and we've still had to send out a letter of apology to the extended family whom we couldn't accomodate...
Somewhere along the way I broke a toe. Damn,that hurt! Not totally debilitating after the first week, but a real slowdown when you can't tolerate footwear or drive.
"This is the universe telling you that you need a break," the Master Jedi said.
I wanted to punch him. If the universe wanted me to take a break, it would send leprechauns.
So, it's a month away now, and I'm a raging insomniac. As I had predicted back when I took the catsitting gig to get ahead on the fanfic story, the Wedding Venue Project has sucked up all of my craetive energy, taking away the part of me that makes me feel "real" and grounded - the writing. I try to make a point of sitting down first thing every morning for some story time, "me" time, but it's getting harder. Often I just stare at a blank.
Still, some miracles have been wrought. The big, formerly beautiful basement room with the built in bar, that I had given up on ever reclaiming, is looking beautiful again. Mine Own is clearing out 90% of his belongings, making a fresh start. He's trying hard. Working hard. We're all working and trying hard, and even in the midst of the stress of it all, we're together as a family. Tight. Working toward a goal.
Amid all the exhaustion, the two of them are glowing.
My foot hurts. I'm always tired. I desperately miss the "me" that could sit down and write a scene that even I like to read.
It's 2:30 AM,and I'm watching "The Sara Connor Chronicles" on DVD.
If only I could sleep...