Submitted by: Iza Grek
I am oh, but so out of control!
When you believe you are in control, finding out that you are not may cause a psychological breakdown. It’s not that I am the world’s biggest control freak. In fact, on the spectrum I’d say I am mid to just below mid. But none-the-less, the ensuing meltdown proved that me and control were very distant relatives.
Last night I left my bag at work. I have never been so loskop (absent-minded). This marriage thing must be playing with my mind (read, fu##ing with my brain).
I had the runs for a week and I dont mean in my pantihose which Im wearing in duplicate to fend off the cold. Trips to the loo are not the most pleasant or productive way to spend time especially when theres a wedding to plan.
Girl and toilet
On the loo due to wedding anxiety
This week we had the gross displeasure of meeting with the Jewish Marriage Registration Office (Beth Din) where they demanded nothing short of a kidney as proof of our Judaic authenticity. Like, ‘leave your blood tests at the door dears’, the doctor too, must earn a living (just kidding).
Records of parents marriage certificates from the arc and dredging up original unabridged birth certificates were all par for the course. With an upfront fee of R2500 ($170) for this dubious honour, I hope the course is lined with lush pink roses among the thorny obligations of marriage preparation lessons, among other things.
This is the way of orthodox nuptials despite my being a mildly observant Jewish lass to whom the prospect of having the legal commitment officiated in the Magistrates Court is starting to appeal.
That said, we have just about wrapped up the caterer and the venue so things are taking shape. I have also engaged a dress maker who wont be costing the earth, and since I have partly designed the gown myself I should be able to live with it.
Now I just need to recover from the photographers quote which felt like a smack in the solar plexus (the chakra for power and will, ironically). All in all, my stomach is not handling this well.
Is there a doctor in the house? No doctor has a cure for what ails me. I am a nervous, jittery, strung out bride!. That’s the diagnosis and there is no fricking cure.
I cannot take the proverbial chill pill because nothing will stay down, not even that, and, on the other extreme, going to bed with a hot water bottle is absolutely not the answer because I’ve just go so much unchecked on my list.
The last two options it seems are fight or flight. I’ve done with the fighting, for this week, I have… and to take flight?
Well that would be just dumb as I have waited my whole on-the-shelf-life for this blessed wedding day.
So the only thing I can do is make sure there is a generous supply of loo paper in the house and think of all the grams I’m shedding in the process.
Wedding dress, here I come.
About the Author: A personal account of how I found my partner late in life
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