My small-town, almost totally non-existent social media following must have known I was back in town, and they all psychically knew the very time I was going to be at my Personal Lottery Center. I have never met as many friends at the local stop-and-rob on a Saturday afternoon.
It was fun.
First thing each friend did was ask about my son. How cool to know a whole little town cares about a guy who lives twelve time zones away. He’s doing really good – white blood count way down and heart much smaller. (Those of you who personally know my son – no jokes about the small heart. He is generous and caring. So there.)
Second thing, after showing concern, came the teasing. I absolutely get it. I have a reputation for being frugal. Make that stingy, tight with nickels and dimes, and downright mean about money. It is a reputation I have worked hard to earn. I want it to be clear: I have no intention of becoming a spendthrift. I explained in detail how this lottery thing is a mental self-exercise. I am learning lots of things about myself – especially myself and money. Lotterying is a $3.00 therapy session. And, if I do it right, because this blog is on my author page, it could be tax deductible. I explained it is a weekly investment in my mental health and practice in honing my writing skills. The lottery thing is not, I repeated, throwing my money away.
They laughed. To a man, woman and kid, they heard me out and they laughed. They all knew I was doing it for the fun and hope, hope, never-ending hope that I will win big.
That’s ok. I laughed too. Lotterying is fun. And I would have no trouble making the mental adjustment that I am a part of the rich 1%.
It is good to be home. It is good not to have the virus.
It is good to have $3.00 to waste, invest, just have fun with – choose the word that works for you.