In what could be considered my typical PMS fashion I had a bit of a freak out today. As those of you who stop by often know, The Husband quit his job. Today is the second day of him not working. Only two days. But I panicked. Now, it could be that growing up with my mother, constantly worrying about how she was going to pay the rent and where our next meal was going to come from had a lasting effect on me. Could be. It could also be that I’ve spent the greater part of my adult life being hopelessly broke. Occasionally, but for the kindness of family, I might have been homeless. I’m just saying. These things? They leave marks. Permanent marks, like tattoos. So when I spoke to The Husband today about what he was doing and what might be his next move and he said something about being on vacation I flipped. Slightly. And got angry. And did the whole “I have to get back to work” hang up quickly thing. Vacation is usually something one takes when one has a job, wherein one gets paid for not working a couple of weeks out of the year. Being without work equals, to me, unemployed, not vacation.
So I came home and I yelled a little. And he yelled back. Ugly words like “nag” and “irresponsible” were flung about, haphazardly. The cats ran and hid under the bed. And then we got over it. He explained that he has been an adult, on his own, taking care of things for a very long time. I explained that I’ve been broke for a very long time and finally FINALLY feel like I have dug myself out of Financial Hell. I’m no longer dangling over a giant chasm, prevented from falling into the abyss by a tiny little thread. I am at the edge of that chasm, a few steps back. But do you see how it would only take one bad financial month to push me right back over? And then I’m hanging there with no thread, just my little YIPE sign right before I fall to the bottom in a cloud of dust. Verily, I say unto thee, that marriage is difficult. Be ye careful in your choice of life-mate, and be ye ready to compromise when it is necessary. Or something like that. Because if I didn’t love this guy? HMPH. Really, I’m sure it will be fine, I’m sure he has A Grand Scheme and will have a job in no time, or at least a gig wherein he acts like CC DeVille and gets paid money to do so. Wouldn’t it be awesome if that project totally took off and he made lots of money? Especially if it happened right before I popped a baby out mah hoo-haw? Oops. I said that. On my blog. My public blog. Without warning. Sorry internet. At least I didn’t say vagina.
In other news: Today is my Grandmother’s 77th birthday. Please, if there is a God, or a Jesus, or an angel of life expectancy, can I make it to 77 and beyond? How awesome is it to be around for that much history? She was born in 1934! How many things did she witness? Granted, The Great Depression sucked, and dubya dubya tew was no picnic, but we had to read about it in books. She probably watched the moon landing on television for crying out loud. I’ve often felt like I was born in the wrong time. Do you ever get that, or am I totally nuts? Being born in the late 70s is kind of boring. We had the 80s, which obviously rocked, but the 90s? A flannel filled, angsty nightmare (which, by the way, still exists in Portland. I didn’t put my finger on it until this video went viral on Portland folks’ facebook profiles. So. Effing. True.) And then there was the Bush administration. Jesus H! Don’t even get me started! I totally could have been born in the 30s, married and having babies in the 50s. I know, I know. There were things that sucked. Polio. War after war after war. Racism. Sexism. Etc, etc. I know, I get it. But sometimes I wonder. Anyway, whoa, hell of a tangent. I talked to Grandma on her 77th birthday. She’s still raving about my wedding, and you know what? It was pretty feckin’ awesome. I wish I could eat that meal once a month.