The waves of anxiety certainly didn’t subside today. I knew I was in for it from the moment I woke up, but perhaps this isn’t the place to talk about my bowels.
We spent some more time searching for a vacation rental house for the wedding reception. Some places were just plain too expensive, but mostly the problem is that the houses require a three to five night minimum stay. I can just barely swing two nights. Three is out of the question. Unless no one wants to eat.
Everybody’s saying all the right things, and I’m trying to believe them. I want to trust that everything will be alright, and it won’t be a low-class affair. I’m not asking for extravagance, just a touch of respectability. I just want everything to be a tiny bit nicer than real life.
At the moment, I’m giving up on the idea that I’ll be able to have much fun. Now that all the arrangements for food and serving and bartending and decorating and, well, everything, have fallen to me, I expect I’ll have much too much work to do to even breathe. I guess that’s why people used to have their parents throw their wedding. But before I can even worry about all of that, I have to find a place to put everyone. I refuse to have my wedding reception outside the smelly bathrooms next to the police station.
I’m still hoping for a miracle. I’m praying that the perfect solution will find me and it won’t cost me all of my savings. I wanted to travel with that money. But I guess whatever it takes to throw a great party for our friends and family is what it takes. If you know of any miracles on this island, give me a call. I could use one badly.
Oh, and Geoff got a temp gig, so no starving. No splurging, either. Life goes on.