I am Helen and I am a post-graduate student.
Ah, and what's your last name Helen?
Maddock. NO! wait! It's Findlay.
And there you have it. Married off. Someone's wife. That's me. Married with kittens at the age of almost 23.
A lot has been happening in the last few weeks and I wish I had been able to blog it properly, to take the time to note these remarkable occurences, as they truely are that. I have loved the last few weeks more than anything, and I have learnt the true meaning of adoration, celebrity and indeed exhaustion.
I have a few things to note today, so I can have them safe in words and not swimming in my head. I don't trust myself to remember all of this well. I do not intent to go into minute detail of the wedding, not just yet. I'm still drinking it all up and I really need to devote some time to lay it down properly when I am not feeling quite so bothersome (I have the cold).
The wedding was the most odd thing. I had imagined it for so long and when it came nothing was as I had imagined. I don't mean this like things went wrong or different to as planned. To explain, it is like when you are going to meet someone and you are told about them, for example, they are very outgoing and fun. And you make a wee image in your head of what they look like and imagine the scenario when you meet them, where you will be standing. And even if you know the location or even a photo of the individual, when you finally meet them they look different to your mind, you will be facing a different way, sitting on a different seat, not sitting at all. They will still be the same person, they will still be has described, you will still be in the same venue but it will be different. Obviously, nothing is ever exactly as imagined. This struck me on the day of the wedding. And it was in no way bad, not at all.
Another thing that happened when I got married which I did not anticipate was the nerves. Stuart got them too. Of all the people in the world, all the couples, we are the least likely to be in any way worried about getting married. And it was not worries of getting married but that it would all go right. I think it was just the scale of the event. I was fine all morning, setting up, getting hair and makeup done. My mum was jittery to the max, you could see it all over her the poor dear. I think we were playing off of eachother because once she has laced up my dress, which she was worried about, and had started taking some pictures, she started to calm down and I started to feel a little scared. It hit once we got out the hotel room and took the lift down but I didn't really notice it. When it stopped feeling like butterflies and started feeling like my insides were imploding was when the car door was shut on me and my dad. Suddenly it was over, the planning, the waiting, the anticipation. It was pure adrenaline. I have had problems dealing with this adrenaline stuff (cue eye rolling) vis-a-vis panic attacks in the past. The so called "fight or flight" mechanism being something I do not particularly relish. But this was in a league of its own. When the car pulled up at the wedding ceremony venue the photographer (a lovely man named Stan) wanted photos of me in the car. He asked me to smile and my whole lip was quivering, it felt like I couldn't smile. In the waiting room one guest decided not to show up so we were held up. I don't remember it all too well. Then we went up the aisle and we had to stop for pictures; as my dad commented - this was as popular as I was ever going to be. Thank goodness. I know when I stopped being nervous though. It was exactly the point when Stuart looked at me (he didn't as I came up the aisle). Everything was then calm.
After the wedding we went on honeymoon, which is a whole other story that can mostly be explained by the pictures (which were recovered, thanks husband-o-mine!). Then we returned to Glasgow only to have to do a 10k run. This was completed yesterday with expressway crossings, nose bleeds and bloody colds inlcuded for free. 1 hour 8 mins 34 secs.
Now I lie here on the couch with my legs up, lap top on my... lap, indeed and I'm just gathering up all the string. Presents, thankyous, aching legs, Bath waters, stationery, dry cleaning and the inability to breathe are keeping me occupied as I do the famous Mrbob move of saving up my illness until all the work is over.
I am soon to return to university as a postgraduate. I note the difference now. Before you were induced to university by being thrown in the union (a not so tasty spot) for a week before term, now it is an induction with "wine and nibbles" included. Before you had to borrow to support the £3000 odd a year fees for the opportunity to work your arse off all year round, now they are paying this for me, plus a tidy sum to live off of. Not bad at all. I guess hard work does pay off after all. I will also be returning to my job at the disability service. Last year I was working as a scribe. This year they asked my to be a mentor and a tutor. Thoroughly impressed it seems. I choose to call this a promotion, why not?
For the next three weeks (the last three weeks before I have no more holidays ever, apparently according to my supervisor) I plan to do nothing. If you know me you know nothing is never nothing so I mean I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. High priorites are reading (fiction, for book club), sleeping during the day with my cats, some household stuff, and lots of baths. I'm going to be a homemaker for three weeks, I feel my new title deserves that.
Yours,
Mrs Findlay.
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