I want to write stuff here. Really, I do. But when I sit down to do it, all I can think is, "I'm tired. Wedding wedding wedding. Soooo tired."
Mainly for the sake of writing about something else, I just composed a whole post about some minor recent medical issues I've been having, which I was going to share with you. What am I, your grandmother, that I tell you about all my various levels and supplements? Sheesh.
So: more wedding talk it is! You are so lucky.
Our current guest list for the wedding? TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE. Holy. Crap. That is a lot of guests. I feel like a whole big bundle of wedding cliches when I say this, but seriously--how did this happen?* What's really nuts is that I feel like there are still a decent number of people that I'd like to invite, and whose feelings might be hurt if they are not invited.
I know that many--probably most--of the out-of-towners who are invited to this crazy shindig won't come. My brother pointed out over Christmas that it was great I was having a destination wedding in such a crazy, far-flung locale. Because let's face it, no one wants to go to Seattle! It's madness! (Let it be known that my brother lives in Alabama.) Many of my relatives have already told me that they consider the fly-over states impossible to fly over, and that they therefore will be staying in Alabama where the good Lord intended them to stay. But still. Two hundred and twenty one?
When I entered into the Wonderful World of Weddinghood, I thought that somehow, I would be different. Not for me, all the stress and worrying and trying to please everyone! Heck no! I am a LIBERATED LADY (I told myself), and therefore magically immune to such nonsense. I would plan my wedding with grace, poise, and humor, and perhaps the tiniest ironic twinkle in my eye.
Um. Yeah. Did I tell you about how a couple of weeks ago, I decided I hated my wedding dress (maybe), so I had to dig it out of the back of the closet and try it on (again) for R** and have him tell me that it wasn't hideous, and that I would not look like a freakishly large cotton ball or some such at my wedding? No?
And I won't even get started on the Transportation Problem, over which I have lost much sleep and possibly even some hair. Believe me, you don't want to hear about it.
I want to get married. At a wedding, even (although I can't really remember what was so wrong with eloping). But when I look at the to-do list for the wedding, I just want to take a nap.
*Answer: Everyone I am remotely related to is invited to this wedding.
**Still haven't come up with that nickname yet. I am leaning towards Rambo, as suggested by Pop Culture Librarian. Mainly because R really likes to smash things.