Answer: “I’d Buy Myself A Brand New Life!”Posted: April 21, 2011
Yesterday I posed the question “What would I do if I won the lottery? Today I plan to answer it. Before I do though, let me tell you how my morning started.
I woke up at four when my husband’s alarm went off, and took my anti-inflammatory meds. I’m taking all my meds properly, have been on them for five days now, and still am feeling really sluggish. Haven’t been able to figure out why. Slow healer? Anyway, an hour later I’m awakened again, and this time by his bitching. There’s no water and he can’t find one bandana out of a stack of dozens he used to have (my husband is a drywall finisher and wears them faithfully to cover his long locks while working). I know he’s blaming my teenage son, and thinks he’s been carting them off to school. Wait! What? We have no water?
Yeah, it took me a few minutes to process that. Now I’m sitting up in bed and asking him, “What do you mean we have no water?”
“I mean there’s no water. None!” he says frantically searching through a laundry basket of clean, folded clothes I’ve yet to put away. “The cistern is dry.”
“Which means something is wrong with the well, right?” I ask, trying to sound calm, though I’m freaking the hell out because here we go again with the water!
“I don’t know. I don’t have time right now to screw with it. I’m late!”
He slips out the bedroom door, no kiss, no nothing. I just lie there and groan “Great!”
My alarm goes off at six and I head for my sons room to wake him up. I’m sitting on the edge of his bed in my ratty, blue robe asking him if he has any idea what happened to all the bandana’s in the house, and just then have a ‘feeling’. I rush from the room yelling at him I’ll be right back, and head for the bathroom. I found out pretty quick why I’m feeling sluggish. I started my period. I started my period and I have no water! How’s that for freakin, perfect timing? And people wonder why I say “When shit happens, it always happens to me!”
The answer to the question: What would I do if I won the lottery? Is… “I’d buy myself a brand new life!”
My husband and I often joke if we win the lottery we’re splitting the money and going our separate ways. People at our local gas station and convenience store laugh when we tell them this, because we can be quite comical when we’re bantering in public. Also, because it’s a joke, right? Is it? I honestly don’t know anymore. I sometimes wonder if isn’t just easier for us to stay together and ‘keep’ what we have, and if we didn’t need to then we wouldn’t. I can’t speak for my husband, but I know I for one miss the separate identity I had before we got together. I also often wish I ‘d given more thought before marrying again. My kids were on their way out the door; I was tasting freedom for the first time in my adult life, and then saddled myself again with yet another person to take care of. WTF? I’ve been worrying about someone else, altering my life for another, and making sacrifices since I met my first husband at the age of 16. For thirty-two years now I’ve done this. Would I stay married if I came into that much money and not have an opportunity to enjoy it the way I wanted? I can’t say that option looks promising. Just being honest.
I believe I’d probably go away. I’d rent out a storage unit for all my personal, sentimental things, pack my bags, tuck my Chihuahua under my arm, and walk out the door. I’d cash in that ticket, and run far. Wouldn’t you? Would anyone want to be a part of the frenzy that follows lottery winners: Fair-weather friends coming out of the woodwork looking for a handout, family reminding you of how much they’ve done for you, your children asking for anything and everything to accommodate a lifestyle they desire to have, every imaginable charity giving you a sob-story, and the media beating down your door asking the question everyone wants to know “What are you going to do with the money?” Before you even have a chance to catch your breath, gather your thoughts together and say “I’m going to finally live my life, that’s what!” it’s all gone, and you can’t. Wow! Not me!
I’m under the opinion I can love anyone from anywhere, and if that were to happen I suspect I’d love my friends, family, and children from Turtle Island in Fiji for a while. Just me, my little dog, a lot of sunscreen, swimwear, and alcohol. That would give me ample opportunity to plan for my future. I’m getting on, there isn’t a lot of it left, so how difficult should that be?
I don’t see myself changing a lot. You can’t buy class, whether people think they can or not. It’s like adorning a pig with jewels; it’s just not a good fit. I’d probably get a nip/tuck here and there just to build my self-esteem a little, invest in my health by hiring a person trainer and nutritionist, get a bit more ink, a lot more leather, indulge in my madness for bags and shoes, and maybe finally buy that soft-tail I should’ve long ago. Or, purchase one and find myself a part-time ‘yummy’ to cart me around on it so I can still partake of adult beverages while riding. I’d buy myself a couple, quaint, vacation cottages (one on the coast of Massachusetts and one in the Keys), travel to places like Russia, France, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales researching my family tree, and just live my life. I’d set each of my children up with a trust that they couldn’t touch unless they got a degree (thereby ensuring they would have something to fall back on if they squandered it), give a gift of money to each of my siblings, by a marble bench and place it near the grave of my best friend who’s passed to honor her, and build my, Pandora Patty a beautiful, country home right next to mine so we’d never have to be a part again. If I donated anything to charity, it would probably be to sponsor homeless families and aid in the education of under-privileged children. I may even set myself up in a small business: A coffee house, cozy bar, or up-scale thrift store. I’d write. I would finally find the inspiration to do so.
These are things I would do. They may seem terribly materialistic, but when you’ve never had much this tends to be what you desire the most. Money can’t buy happiness, I agree; but it sure can make being miserable a whole lot more tolerable. Oh, and one last thing to add to the list: A 1970 ‘Hugger Orange’ Road Runner. Yeah, baby!