pressure.
headache.
agh bloody hell I hate stress.
It's not good for the baby, y'know, so I don't know how come I have to deal with the most of it.
And apparently this is no longer my wedding. I have an input on some things but everything else everyone else is taking into their own damn hands. It's supposed to be the bride's day, not the groom's day or the mother of the bride's parents' day. MINE.
So now I'm having menus that don't fit my theme colour put on the tables and my hubby-to-be (if I don't kill him in his sleep before the wedding, that is) wants a casual wedding. So he's going to probably show up in khaki shorts and a lose shirt on the day. In a colour that doesn't match my dress in the slightest. And he's probably not going to care about my opinion on what suit he goes for, because if I say I don't like it, he's going to go all mopy and sulky and boohoo woe is me. Because, you know, it's not like it's MY day or anything, so...
****it. You know what, I give up. Do whatever the hell you people want. I don't care. All I want is the stupid paper to make it official, and food ready to fill my tummy afterward. I don't give a shnit about anything else anymore, you people can figure it out yourselves. I've got enough on my plate as it is already - birthday party, fixing my tumble dryer, inviting people and getting money for the next birthday party, FINDING A HOUSE, not to mention arranging furniture removal services and packing up this place and cleaning it up, and trying to find a moment or two to write a sentence or so on my novel which is due THIS WEEKEND, and of course only when I'm not puking my guts out in the bathroom am I able to do any of these other things.
So go F up the wedding, I don't give a shnit anymore. It's not what I envisioned it anyway, far from it, so what the hell do I care really. Whatever.