AIMEE: “Don’t talk to me,” I bark at Brian from my spot on the sofa where I’ve been sitting all day long. “I’m on number 73!” It’s almost 10 pm and I’ve spent most of the weekend writing the 73 thank you notes for our wedding gifts. (These aren’t form letters, my friends: like snowflakes, no two notes are exactly alike.)
I came back from the honeymoon a month ago with my wedding work ethic completely eroded. I was once able to multitask: choose cake fillings while addressing invitation envelopes while having my gown fitted. With the wedding over, the list of things on our to-do list has instantly shrunk from 5 million to about five. But my productivity level has deflated faster than a helium balloon the day after a party.
“I was just saying that you shouldn’t feel like you have to do them all right now,” Brian says consolingly. “I really don’t think we’re late on them.” I, however, DO think we’re late, and it’s my fault.
In our one-two punch process of thank you note writing, I write the bulk of the note and then he adds in a little line or two as a postscript. This is a fine system, but, of course, it all hinges on my ability to start the ball rolling, which ain’t easy.
“I think you might be getting a little…punchy,” Brian continues gently, watching me write.
“NOOOO!” I look at him with crazy, rabid dog eyes. On the last line of what should be my last note I have just added a “t” to the word “enough” as in: “We can’t thank you enought.” I want to cry. This requires intense concentration. I tear it up and redo it, very slowly, like a child learning cursive for the first time.