I Repeat, This Ain’t Livin’
In the final weeks before any new life event, I am a miserable person to be around. I’ve noticed a pattern beginning to emerge, and suddenly I become Debbie Downer times 50, determined that I, or someone I love, is about to die, the world is falling apart and that I need to take a step back and remove myself from whatever situation I’m about to leap into, pronto, or our lives as we know it will end in disaster.
Take my wedding for example: two weeks before the big day, I almost called it off. I was CONVINCED that I was making the mistake of a lifetime. Suddenly, all the wonderful things about Adam dissipated (a challenge, given how truly fabulous he is), and I became convinced that my wedding wasn’t a joyous occasion, but the exact moment that I would be exiled to the ninth level of hell. Thank God Adam had more sense than I did, for when I sheepishly suggested that perhaps a wedding wasn’t a great idea, he simply replied,
“Um, no. Not having this discussion. I don’t care if you divorce me the next day, but after all the months of this planning bullshit, we are HAVING THIS WEDDING.”
End of discussion. Lesser men would have taken the opportunity. And thank GOD, because of course it passed, the day was wonderful, and being married truly rocks, I swear. I wanted to get married, I should have gotten married and what a GREAT idea it was! Just in case, you know, there was any doubt.
The move is a little different, in that at no point have I felt like backing out was an option – in fact, I’m half looking forward to it, in a way. It’s just that I’m convinced that all world crises and incidents are bound to converge on me and that we’ll never get there. I shock myself with my ability to become so paranoid and self-centered that I think all these things are going to happen TO ME, never mind the poor people they are happening to every day. I’m pretty disgusted with myself, actually.
Plane crash in Toronto? Oh my GOD that means that my flight to a wedding next weekend is going down in a thunderstorm. Road rage shootings in Lynn and Brockton? The next man I flip off on 128 is going to gun me down. Some poor kid’s mother dies on MTV’s The Real World? Speed dial mom, because that means she’s going down. Dad, too. And then I start crying.
Tonight I panicked that the folks from Craig’s List that we’re selling our bookcases to are going to show up tomorrow night wielding knives, machetes and other weapons, kill us, take our money and leave the bookcases. I’ve also become convinced that I have at least four different types of cancer, panicked and hovered over EVERY SINGLE MOVE Adam makes and if it involves getting into a motor vehicle, I practically strap him in myself. And if he takes more than three seconds to make a move towards the seatbelt, I start screeching about the dangers of Boston traffic and high-speed accidents and weeping that I can’t live without him, so won’t he please PUT ON THAT SEATBELT?
Thank God I know from experience that this will pass. Right? RIGHT?
And for those of you keeping score, the flightiness continues. Tonight, after a nice long run, I turned on the shower, took all of my clothes off and stepped in.
With my sneakers on.
13 comments August 3rd, 2005