Back to the Grindstone

Some lucky South Carolinian just won Power Ball. That means I, nor any one I am related to, won the quarter of a billion dollars. Too bad, I had all ready spent most of it. It would have been nice.

I could have paid off the credit cards. Of course I wouldn't require them anymore, so I wonder what the fee is to shove a card up a CEO's rectum is up to these days? I won't be finding out anytime soon.

And that tropical island I was eyeballing in the South Pacific, the Caribbean is too close for my tastes, isn't an option. No Mai Tais and cabana boys. No watching the sunset or sunrise from my private beach. Nope, looking like another cold and snowy winter in norther Indiana.

And a car I want, not one the one I settled on. Not that the roller skate is horrible, but I want a Range Rover. Or an Escalade. Something big and obnoxious. For a few weeks, then my hippiness would take over and I'd hire someone to convert it to a hybrid. I'd be rich, I could do what i want.

And my job. The one that doesn't feel like they need me, yet occasionally offers me overtime. The one that pays well, but still hasn't decided where they need me the most. Yeah, that one. I'll be back Sunday night.

Maybe, the next jackpot is only twenty million. Ten if you take the cash payout. After taxes, I might get to keep 2.5 to 3 million of that. Enough to pay everything off and follow my passion. Once i find it.