Some people indicated that I "wouldn't know what to do with myself" after the wedding, as though I've ever once known what to do with myself. It is not necessarily that I have more free time now. (I axed most of my DIY whims early on, as I am creative, but imprecise and easily bored. Giving myself permission to not have a cute wedding was one of the best things I could do for my mental health. Also, and I say this with self-love, I am not a cute person, why would I have a cute wedding? I am 5'8" and I pick my teeth at the dinner table.)
No, I had plenty of free time this summer, but my headspace was hopelessly disquieted by an anxious chorus of tasks, logistics, timelines and money.
Strangely, now I find myself feeling those flashes of manic invincibility like right after you get dumped. You know, how in between sobbing so hard you dry heave, you allow yourself to feel dangerously free. Because you're going to finally learn Italian, and summit Kilimanjaro, and become a yoga instructor, aren't you? Of course you are.
In my case, it's too many things to take on at once but I am certain in the coming weeks it'll distill down into a few manageable goals. Like bandwagoning a trendy fitness thing. Like sending a sheepish "back from outer space, oops" e-mail to my thesis advisor. Financing adult braces (really). Signing up for a marathon in the spring.
For now, I am happy to scorch dinner, harass the cat, and call my mom without the specter of some wedding docket. To loaf, the only thing I've ever really been good at.