Mega-millions fever is spreading like a juicy rumor. The Mister sometimes buys a ticket with some leftover change. But today, I got in on the action.
Another woman stood also in line with her chosen numbers while we waited at Cumberland Farms to be given printed tickets. At least two or three other people came in for “quick picks” in the few moments I was there. I glanced down at my somewhat randomly chosen sets of numbers, and my heart pounded.
Boston News last night reported that the Mega-millions jackpot could climb from $540 million (already the largest in U.S. history) to $600 million by tonight’s drawing.
What would I do with all that money?
Well, first some would have to go towards medical bills, because I’m positive I would hyperventilate or have a heart attack upon hearing my numbers read aloud.
Then, we wouldn’t pay a penny more than what our rickety house and plot of land is worth, and build a nice four bedroom home, with two bathrooms, a dishwasher, and deck out back. A house that doesn’t leak, has air conditioning, and easier to heat in the winter. Plus, we’d put another dock out onto Heart Pond. And the Mister would get a car garage almost as big as the house.
I would either get a new VW Beetle, or give my current Beetle a major face lift and engine overhaul. Or maybe a Mini. Or maybe and Audi A-3.
I’d walk into any university I wanted, pull out the checkbook and ask when I can enroll in their Doctorate of Psychology program. (:p~~~~~~ to you, Ivy League Scholars, make way for the Mouth from the South)
Start my own progam to help struggling graduates pay off their student loans.
Put some money aside for the Boy.
Fix my teeth.
And of course, travel. Take a summer or something to go on a tour of Asia.
What would you do?
Scratch that , people ….. 640 MILLION DOLLAAAAAAHHHHHZ.
This beautiful moment is brought to you by academic failure.
The following piece is a version of the signature the Mister put on our son’s cast:
When you get an “F” in Spanish,
your parents take away your video games.
When your parents take away your video games,
you go ride your bike outside.
When you ride your bike outside,
you fall and break your arm.
When you fall and break your arm,
you get a giant cast on your arm.
When you get a giant cast on your arm,
you really cannot play video games.
Don’t get an “F” in Spanish.
There’s a saying that is echoed in a Rolling Stones song: “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you’ll get what you need.”
Well that is not the case in the Land of Missey Twisted.
I need a job that supports my little family: Don’t have that.
My veteran husband needs a job that can support his family: Don’t have that.
I need to pay my bills: Not doing that-> See the aforementioned needs.
I need affordable health insurance: Dont’ have that. (Hopefully will get it soon though)
I need more sleep: But according to the way I feel, am not getting that.
My son did not need to break his arm: Got that.
I do not need to be charged outrageous amounts for medical procedures my doctor claimed would be covered: Got that.
I do not need anymore debt: Getting more and more into it, as we can’t pay for groceries or gas.
Did not need the Mister to be in a 4-car pile up on the Lowell Connector: Got that. (Thankfully, he is not injured, but the Jeep is another story…)
I DO NOT NEED ANY MORE STRESS. (if stress was money, I’d be very rich)
Therefore, Missey Twisted’s current philosophy is:
I don’t get what I need; I get what I don’t need.
There is much construction going on in the Mill Building these days. Solar panels are being installed into our roof. Some sort of school or classrooms are going next door to our offices.
Therefore, we get an email today, notifying us that electricians have shut off the air conditioner. Most of the windows are open in the main community service area and in clinician’s offices to allow air to circulate through.
And as one co-worker pointed out, better to shut off the AC today than on Friday, when Massachusetts will see record breaking 80+ degree weather for the first week of spring. Amen to that.
For now we get to enjoy the sounds of cooing pigeons and tweeting birds. The steady rumbling of traffic. The cathedral bells tolling the hours. The roar of a motorcycle to announce that he simply owns a cycle. The booming base of someone who thinks we all want to hear his car stereo. Police sirens. Profanity from five stories down on the street, which somehow carries up the stories and sounds like it’s right outside my window.
That reminds me… I should turn on all the sound machines in the office.
None the less, it is a gorgeous day in Lawrence, Massachusetts and my lunch break is a Beautiful Moment.
Excuse me, people sitting patiently in the waiting area of the clinic, but you may want to duck or get against the wall.
Why, you ask.
Because the printer/fax/copier is about to go flying through the glass window and crash into the far wall.
Do you not just *love* it when equipment that is meant to save time actually wastes time?
So, the big main copier/printer that the clinicians and intensive care coordinators use in the office kept getting paper jams. I think I cursed it the other day while waiting in line for my notes to print. I mentioned that the machine would quit on us one day because we over use it. And it did. So we all now needed to use the smaller fax/copier/printer in the office coordinators’ space. And heaven forbid if Missey Twisted wanted to save some trees and try to print two-sided copies in a copier that does not normally do this. I think I wasted more paper trying to get it to face the correct way when opening the drawer and re-loading the paper. Then my pretty green paper got jammed in the little copier. Great. I was able to open the doors and retrieve it.
But then the doors and latches would not all go back into place right away.
I step back, sigh, and close my eyes.
And I picture myself howling like a lunatic, lifting the copier off the counter, and hurling it through the window and into the waiting area.
Therefore, heads up everyone.
I think I would have felt awesome and quiet powerful and relieved after sending the machine shattering through glass.
But only for a moment. I’m sure the consequences of my impulsive actions would have been dire.
We are often identified by numbers in society these days. Right now, my number is 296.31.
The 296 indicates Major Depressive Episode.
The .3 specifies that the depression is Recurrent, meaning more than one episode.
The 1 notes that it is Mild severity. The 1 means that I meet five or six of the criteria for a Major Depressive Episode:
* Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, either reported by self or observed by others.
* Diminished interest in pleasure or activities. (Chocolate? Gross, no. Sorry, Abe the Vampire Hunter, you’re not getting read tonight.)
* Insomnia (no sleep) or hypersomnia (too much sleep)
* Fatigue or loss of energy.
* Feelings of worthlessness or excessive, inappropriate guilt (everything is my fault)
* Diminished ability to think or concentrate, indecisiveness, forgetfulness.
These are my six criteria.
Number 1 also indicates that I can still function day-to-day, but it takes a substantial effort. Forcing myself out of bed. Then I don’t want to leave the house. Then I don’t want to leave work. Then I am nervous about Writer’s Group. Then I don’t want to leave Writer’s Group. Irritable. Do I really have to shower today? Ugh. Why can’t I just curl up in a blanket and read or journal?
Because the weight of the world rests on my shoulders. There’s bills to pay and laundry to do and people to call and gripe at about paying medical insurance that apparently is not covering my procedures (Well, if you are not going to use my $7,000 I pay per year to pay for the procedure, then I’d like my $7,000 back please). There’s a book to write and books to read. My son can’t survive on sandwiches or nachos every night. There’s a Jeep in the shop that will need to be picked up. The hair does need to be combed and the face needs to be washed. *Sigh*
It is 50 + degrees outside. Due to the abnormally mild winter, there’s a couple of inches of real snow on top on fake snow down at Nashoba Valley Ski Area. A giant hole was gouged out the base of the hill, lined with tarp and filled with water. What time is it? Time to mark the end of the ski season at Nashoba with the Pond Skim. The object of this annual event is to ski or snowboard down the hill, then skim across the man-made pond. Or crash spectacularly into the freezing water as you try.
Skiers and boarders either dress in crazy swim trunks or in costumes based on the chosen theme. Spectators in the front row be warned! Some snowboarders love to swivel their boards and splash the crowd with the chilling water. This year, yours truly was soaked from the waist down. 2012’s theme was super heros and villians. Superman, a shirtless Spiderman, a Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtle, the Joker, and even Quail Man from Nickelodeon’s Doug, zipped down the hill and attempted to cross the 79 foot pond. The Joker had the best run, in my opinion, successfully crossing the pond in his famous purple and green suit, and splashing up much water in his wake. The women folk displayed more awesome crashes into the water.
Sometimes I feel I should participate in the event. My track record entails falling spectacularly down the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, so I’m sure a nice face plant into the water at the Pond Skim would be quite entertaining.