The future is a horribly scary, uncertain place

PHOTO: Brett and I in Washington, D.C.

I hate running. I really do.

But on Memorial Day, because the gym was closed and I hate exercising by myself, I joined Brett for his run.

We just started the process of looking for a home to buy. Due to health-related concerns and a great potential for disability (for both of us) we don't want to buy a home with more than one floor and we are avoiding porches and other features that require more than a few steps in a set of stairs.

It's sad that a pair of 30-somethings need to think about these things. We're young, we have good jobs. We should be able to buy whatever we want, but we are limited in our options.

As we ran we were discussing house-related scenarios. Payments. Stairs. What if one of us was in a wheelchair? How would we deal with a ramp? Do we want homes with carpeting, or should we look at wood floors only? Or rip out the carpets later?

I explained to him the homes I had seen on the Internet. That homes that were near our max payment were significantly better than homes that were $40,000 less.

Then Brett said, "I just worry that if something were to happen to you I would not be able to afford a place by myself."

Without missing a beat I said, "I know, but at that time you could just sell the house. That could be figured out when the time comes. I am sure someone would want to buy the house."

Thirty seconds pass. And then I start sobbing.

In the middle of the sidewalk, on a sunny Memorial Day, I was sobbing because my husband has to think about stupid ass shit like not being able to afford a potential home because his 35 year-old wife might die in some unforeseen future from brain cancer.

Godammit. I hate this shit.

The end.