Money

(Pink Floyd, 1973)

I hate money. It is, after all, the root of all evil. Although I don't recall any mention of it in the Garden of Eden. I'll be that slimy serpent secretly flashed Eve a drachma or two, just to sweeten the deal. THAT'S why I hate it so much. It's seductive, it's intoxicating, it's addictive. Much like chocolate. What if chocolate was money? I'd be in such big trouble . . .

Today I spent about two hours redoing our budget, or to be more accurate, our bill paying schedule. Once upon a time I used to pay the bills, but got fed up with it and handed it over to Ron, who did a fine job for about ten years. Then he got overloaded with work, and settling the estates of his brother and mom so I said I'd be glad to take it back. I had a perfect little system worked out. Now he gets paid every week (instead of every two) so I had to go online and figure out exactly when all of our automatic payments come out, when to make the mortgage payment, etc. Thank heavens for online banking. Otherwise I'd be biting my nails for a month waiting for everything to fall into place. And I've got acrylic nails. That would be some nasty biting.

Tyler and I have quite a few things in common, one of which is hoarding money. He is loathe to spend a single dime (although he's quite generous when it comes to gift giving). Once I've got a little cushion, I just want to keep stuffing it full of extra padding. We have secret goals regarding the level at which we want to keep our accounts that we don't dare mention because someone in the family (Ron) will do the eye rolling thing and mutter unkind words about us under his breath. Words like "Ebenezer" and "tightwad." I've come to realize that it's a total power tripping thing. See, it's evil, evil, evil.

If you want to see a meltdown in record time tell me we have to pay for car repairs. My blood pressure can go from fairly normal to stroke mode in 1.2 nanoseconds. I figure we've spent a great deal of money to purchase the car. It should NEVER EVER EVER need fixing. Ron says the Neon (aka The Beater) needs new brakes. I tell him "Just drive slower and be more aware of your surroundings." I'm not kidding. I'd just as soon cut out a hole in the floorboard and do some Fred Flintstone braking. New shoes cost a lot less than brakes.

And, speaking of hoarding money . . . it's been over two weeks since we filled up the Prius and we've still got half a tank left. I'm rubbing my hands together in perfect glee . . . hee, hee, hee.