My parents constantly fought about it. We never had enough. I remember the talks, “Well, we really have to cut back for a little while, so don’t use so much toilet paper and don’t bother asking for new things. But don’t worry, we’ll be ok.”   I never got the talk, “Well, things are back to normal! Let’s go out!” It seemed like an ever-decreasing funding crisis.

So now Eric and I both work, and we’re doing ok. We have our toys, we can pay our day to day bills, but suddenly, things come up. And we can’t do it.  We just did our taxes, expecting money back, and instead we owe a lot. I just saw the oil company outside, so that’s gonna be a large bill I wasn’t expecting this month. My car needs new brakes, and Eric just got a new (used) car because his was dying, which is another monthly payment.

And it starts that familiar panic, that “We’re not gonna make it” feeling, and even more, scares me that Eric and I will start fighting too, because we just can’t pay these bigger bills. I guess it’s not the bills that scare me, it’s what they’ll do to our marriage.

We’re working as hard as we can. That should be enough.

[Edit: Yes, yes, I know. We are much luckier than most. We still have our house, we can buy food, we have great healthcare. We even can afford to keep our toys, instead of contacting a pawn shop. We have jobs!  All true. But at the same time, that doesn't take away the fear that low finances start fights.]

Me: “Your, uh, what?”

Jack: “My FACHINA.”

Me: “Are you saying that on purpose?”

Jack: “Of course!”

Me: “Because, it actually makes sense. The word is ‘vagina’, and you are from China . . . so it’s a China vagina.”

Jack: “My VaChina!”

Eric: “Oh lordy.”

Monica,

The first thing that I noticed when I walked into our motel room was this beautiful 3 foot tall rooster .  It was adorable!!!  I wish that I could have brought it home for you.  It would have been perfect for Eric.  It made me chuckle each time I looked at it.   See you tomorrow.

Love ya,  C—-

Ke$ha the Large Wooden Chicken

Ke$ha in her native habitat

Once, I think I was around 8 years old or so, which would make my brother Tim about 7, my dad was digging up some land in the front yard with his tractor. Tim and I were playing in the dirt nearby. Tim started screaming bloody murder and went running to the house. I followed, curious.

Turns out, Dad had unknowingly unearthed a hornet’s nest. Being in the tractor, he heard nothing, they didn’t sting him, and he moved away to dig somewhere else. Tim walked over to the new dirt to play and got stung.

So we’re sitting on the front porch, while Mom administers first-bee-aid to Tim when Dad comes up to see what happened, and my grampa comes around the corner of the house for the same reason.

We yell to Grampa that it was hornets– “Don’t go in the front yard!” and we point to the area.

Grampa gets this grin on his face, smiles and says in his characteristic, gruff and heavily-accented English, “Bee stings are good for you!” marches out there, waving his arms and dancing around trying to get the hornets to sting him!

We look at each other with wide eyes like he’s INSANE. It becomes a family joke, “Bee stings are good for you!”

But Grampa had the last laugh years later when research studies came out saying that bee/hornet venom is good for arthritis. But he knew that all along.

[He even had the balls to complain about American bees being weak. He said the ones back in Slovenia were much stronger, with much better stingers. Not pansy-bees like the ones in America.]

So, Nurses at Euclid Hospital, if this seemingly crazy old man says he feels fine, he does. And he’s not crazy. And he won’t give up trying to get out of bed just because you say its a bad idea. He’s a Znidar. He’s Grampa Znidar, the one whose genes helped create two more generations of intensely stubborn people. There’s really no arguing with any of them, least of all the Grandfather!

Learning to greet each day with a thankful heart has been one of the best things I’ve done for myself…life is too short for bitterness and envy, that’s for sure.

Now, this entry has nothing to do with this particular friend. What bitterness she has or what envy she is feeling, I do not know. Or for that matter, what she’s thankful for.

My argument is with the spirit of the words.

I tried. I tried so hard to be thankful everyday. And yes, I had things to be thankful for. But when in a depression spiral, or even in a general bad mood, being told to have, or trying to convince yourself to have a “thankful heart” is a bunch of bullshit. Your heart isn’t there, it doesn’t work, and generally makes things worse.

Because its tantamount to straight-up lying. And lying to myself made me feel worse than the general bad mood did.

So I have no idea how she accomplished this “thankful heart” thing. It probably involved praying or something. Which never, EVER worked for me.

It took giving up religion for me to greet each day positively.  And I did that by greeting each day HONESTLY.

Christianity told me to be happy and thankful and loving, etc, etc. And if I wasn’t, I should fake it until I feel it for real. Faking it was extremely destructive to me.

But waking up HONEST turned my world around. If I woke up angry, I owned it. I am angry! Because of ______! It pisses me off! And I have a right to be angry! Because ________ wasn’t right!

And immediately, I’d feel heard, even if only by me. I’d feel respected. My feelings were acknowledged as legitimate. And THAT made me feel better.

Honesty set me free. When I stopped living according to Christian guilt and started living honestly, my whole world turned around. And I guarantee you, I am not waking up with a “thankful heart”. But I’m not waking up with negative emotions either. I’m waking up honest, I’m waking up me, Monica. 

And that is SO MUCH BETTER than waking up with bitterness, envy, or even a “thankful heart.”  :o)

Dooce.com has been accused of this, as has the Bloggess, and a few others, and if its true, it works, because I think they’re all awesome and I wanna be like them someday, as much as I dislike being made to feel like I’m not in the “in” group.

So fuck that, I’m starting my own insiders group. It consists of me. And Cassie. Who is awesome. And you’re not invited.

Just kidding.

Buuut, Cassie IS awesome.

We go entirely too long between seeing each other, but when we do, it’s so very worth it, and it makes me so happy to have a friend who, hell, COULD be in Dooce and the Bloggess’s in-group. And while she’s sitting around having drinks with some of my favorite bloggers would still go, “Oh hey, I’m inviting my friend Monica over to join us. You’ll love her!” despite knowing perfectly well that I will never speak, will suffer from convulsions of introversion the whole time, and most likely will sit in a corner watching everyone like some freakish creeper.

It’s rare to find people who genuinely understand and still enjoy introverts. We can be an unsettling (unsettled?) group.

I love our conversations, I love that she makes me think, I love the way she questions things. If I could have one characteristic of hers, it would be that, her spirit of questioning. Usually I’m so busy mentally chewing on whatever information I just received, or worrying about the socially appropriate response to it, that I can’t even begin to think of follow-up questions that I undoubtedly have later but am too slow to put forth at the right moment.

Anyway, I’m gonna stop there, because Cassie knows she’s awesome, I know she’s awesome and those of you who do not know her are either jealous or annoyed about not knowing her.

But I guarantee that if you send her some vegetarian meatballs right now, she’d be your friend too.

I had a dentist appt this morning— to replace an old silver filling that was going bad, and to fix a soft spot that would become a cavity in a year or so. Very minor, really.

But there I was, on the chair, trembling, shaking, crying, and moving my legs from side to side in that repetitive motion that kids on the Autism spectrum do to soothe themselves.  I was shaking so badly, I was having trouble wiping my tears away. I was terrified.

I knew it was all in my head– I kept taking deep breaths, kept trying to relax my shoulders, my arms, my neck and my jaw– but it wasn’t working.

With all the crying and shaking, I was seriously embarrassed too. Luckily, the dentist and her assistance were warm and encouraging, and didn’t get mad at me like the oral surgeon had last year. That helped IMMENSELY.

Seeing my fear and knowing anticipation can be the worst part, the dentist was quick to move in as soon as the numbing agents had done their work. She was good. And speedy.

By the time I left, I felt better and was numb up to my eyes. The dentist said I had done well, “See, it wasn’t so bad!” and that next time she would give me a prescription for Valium.