Last week I picked Robert up from the train station and we (I) spent our five minute journey home talking about how depressing January is. As we pulled into our drive Robert jested at my misery guts, “We should just get rid of January. Just have eleven months. Who needs a 12th month anyway?” YES. PLEASE. Today is Blue Monday, supposedly the most depressing day of the year, so Tesco are giving out free fruit. Fruit don’t make me happy, Tesco.
Being self-employed and working from home is a dream but it can also be pretty lonely. It can be hard not to feel down in the dumps when you’re waking up to a diary as bare as the Sahara and trying to think of ways to fill your day other than walking the dog to within an inch of it’s life. I thrive on busy; not a daily schedule of Homes Under the Hammer, This Morning, Loose Women, lunch with the news, Judge Rinder and a Say Yes to the Dress marathon. I had things I could do, but nothing that needed to be done that day. Any self-employed person will tell you it’s dangerous territory.
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So while I’ve got flexibility with working on lots of other lovely weddings I guess I should be planning mine, right? Motivation level = zero. ‘Oh, it’s your year!’ ‘Countdown is on now!’ ‘It’ll be here before you know it!’ *pulls covers back over head*
If you Google ‘I’m not excited about my wedding’ there’s two articles on the first page that jump out immediately: ‘7 Signs It’s More Than Just Cold Feet’ and ‘8 Signs You Should Call Off Your Wedding’. Jeebus! Can a bride not have the post-Christmas January-money-stress blues without being told she needs to cancel her wedding?! Especially when point four in the former article is “You've become a belligerent bloated oaf.” WOW. I might have eaten enough cheese over the festive season to feed an army of mice but give a girl a break.
Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to be married and spend the following two weeks travelling Italy, eating all the carbs and drinking prosecco in as many Jacuzzi baths as I can manage. But right now the day itself feels like a big pile of meh.
Anyone who’s ever known me on a personal level will know that I am a control freak. Delegate responsibility? Aaaaahahaha. No, I do it myself. Yes I could plan my wedding today, get married tomorrow and probably be happy with it. I didn’t need to spend nights hunting out the perfect suppliers or afternoons trawling bridal boutiques looking for the perfect dress; I knew so many banging wedding folk already and I’m lucky to call many of them friends. But it meant that large chunks of our wedding were planned like this; “Yo, we’re getting married at Sloans on 25th Sept, you free? “Aye no worries, will put you in the diary.” I wouldn’t change using these suppliers for the world, but less exciting bridal journey and more like booking a hair appointment.
I also wonder if I’m being so blasé about so many parts of our wedding because I don’t want to set myself an expectation. I’ve spent the last seven years of my professional life in some way making sure that every detail of someone’s big day is perfect. From working on hotel reception trying to get the bride’s room ready 3 hours before check-in time because hair and make-up have arrived but the previous guests only left 10 minutes before; to a 30 mile round trip to another hotel to exchange chair ties with the hire company hours before the ceremony because our function room had been dressed in the wrong colour; to running half way across Glasgow in tea time traffic to swap anemones with a kind florist because the wrong variety arrived from Holland. If something goes awry who’ll take on my crazy? I’m definitely not the kind of person who’ll act like the world has ended, but if I could have fixed something that time didn’t allow that’ll bug me no end. I am trying my hardest not to have visions of me double-checking everything on the day before anyone sees it. “Hang on, that sign isn’t sitting right.” “Give me a minute, I want to make sure they remembered to move AB&C to XY&Z.” Normal people have nightmares about not fitting into their dress; I have irrational thoughts about candle placement.
Wee Emma who spends her life in leggings, oversized Disney print jumpers and Ugg boots now needs to be Pinterest and wedding blog worthy. I can’t get away with turning up to my wedding with a beetroot face, a do to rival Monica Geller’s humidity hair and smelling like a baby ogre - but it’s ok because the flowers look amaaaaazing! My brother played my cousin’s wife down the aisle and I blubbered uncontrollably from beginning to end. I’ve asked him to play for our ceremony and I’ve come to terms with potentially spending the ceremony looking like a bipolar panda. But that’s what waterproof mascara is for, right?
On the 31st I’ve got the Scottish Confetti Wedding Awards where I’m nominated for Florist of the Year and next month I’m kicking off my work year with two belting Betty brides, two artisan fayres alongside some of my favourite wedding people and I’ve got my first dress appointment. I know that’ll undoubtedly get me back in giddy-land; I’m just going to blame January for its nothingness.