(I have no idea where this image comes from, exactly. If anyone knows the original source, let me know so I can credit it!)
A conversation Jason and I had, recently:
Jason and I were talking about the newest set of 'must-sign-this-now' house papers we had received, and kind of daydreaming about moving in, and home ownership, hardwood floors and yards and dog and garden and all the things that we're hopeful about.
At some point in the conversation, there came a bit of a lull. He turns to me and says, "Are you excited about buying a house?"
I just shrugged. "Yeah. Excited and worried."
"Worried? About what?"
As a note to anyone reading this, I advise you to not ever, ever ask someone with anxiety problems what they are worried about, unless you are totally cool with the horror novel which will follow.
Case in point, my response:
"Well, I'm worried because... it's a big deal. We're going to owe these people a LOT of money. I mean a LOT of money. What if something bad happens? What if several really expensive bad things happen all at once and we can't make our mortgage payments? Everyone's just a couple of big financial disasters away from homelessness, Jason. If enough bad things happen at the same time, we could lose our house. Then we'd be homeless. We'd have to go live in a cardboard box. I don't want to live in a refrigerator box, Jason!"
My loving husband stared at me, his mouth open just a little. It was similar to the way you might watch a little kid studiously picking gum up off the sidewalk and putting it in their mouth.
He gives me this look more often than is probably normal.
I could see him trying to decide which of the several nonsensical things that had just come out of my mouth he wanted to try and respond to first. This was a hard decision - there was so much to choose from.
Well, I thought to myself. He asked, didn't he?