So Frickin' Bad

Last night, as I lay on the floor in my parents' living room, I reveled in the feeling of home.  True, it's not my home anymore, not in the traditional sense of the word.  I live about 10 minutes away in a house that I purchased and renovated and for which I owe a large sum of money to a bank I'd never heard of before January.  But recently, I've been spending every night at my parents'.  I drive the ten minutes to their house and hang out for a while before falling asleep to the sounds of no-rats-in-the-attic and people-around-me-to-make-me-feel-safe.

In other words, I've been semi-living with my parents for the past week, and it's not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.


Last night's family activity of choice was sitting (or laying) around the living room, half-watching the Democratic debate.  I say "half-watching" because for most of the debate, someone was talking over the television.  Most of the time it was commentary related to the debate--such as my dad joking about how he likes the weird guy (Jim Webb), or my brother trying to argue against some point made by someone behind a podium (because as a male teenager, he likes to argue).  The other times were mostly my mom: John, I don't understand this section.  What am I supposed to do? (and then she'd read loudly over the already-loud TV from some passage of a tax form that she was working on) or Matthew, walk the dog!  I don't want him peeing on the floor tonight!

I love my family.  But they are not always fun to watch TV with.

Meanwhile, I was on the floor trying to read a book that's due back to the library tomorrow, having flashbacks to high school when my siblings would take over the living room to watch TV, forcing me to find another place to read whatever book I had a test on the next day.

(Which flashes me back even further to when I was a kid and we used to go to a neighbor's house after school to watch tv and do homework in their den until my mom got off work.  Those neighbors didn't have a huge house, but they did have a separate room that they called the living room, which no one ever seemed to spend any time in.  I never understood the point.  Then high school hit, and I wished, desperately yearned, for a separate living room where I could read in peace.  I have one now, but I live alone, so it kind of defeats the purpose.)

At one point during the debate, my dad observed aloud that Bernie Sanders seemed to be talking a lot about millionaires and billionaires.  "You know, he's a socialist," my dad said, speaking the last word as though he were revealing that old Bernie was a prostitute or something.  "He said it himself."

Talk of millionaires and billionaires brought me back to the sermon I heard at church last Sunday, where one of the parish's deacons spoke about treasure: treasure in heaven and earthly treasure.  I got mentally side-tracked at one point, but I think the gist of his message was this: being rich isn't all it's cracked up to be.  As much as we say we'd love to win the lottery, it might bring more problems than it solves.  I do remember one line he said verbatim: "Be careful what you wish for." (Although I probably remember this because it's a cliche, not because I was paying careful attention.)

That piece of the homily got me to thinking (this is where the mental side-track began): what would I do if I won the lottery or came into millions of dollars all at once?

So, instead of mindfully remaining present in the moment like I'm supposed to, I came up with a sketchy plan for my imaginary future as a millionaire.  Which I will now share with you, so that one day--when I win the lottery I never play--you will hold me to it.

First, I will pay off all the taxes on my earnings.

Second, I will pay off my house and buy another small house, living in one and renting out the other.  A rat-free place, preferably.

Third, I will buy a new car to replace my wonderful Civic because she's nine years old and in my imagination, this lottery winning won't happen for a few more years.

Fourth, I will set aside a decent amount of money to put straight into investments, whose profits I will use for travel, personal needs, and professional growth options (ie going back to school or getting a new certification or something).  One day, I'll use it to pay for my children's college education (which might cost a million dollars itself by the time I finally have a kid and s/he turns 18.)

Fifth, I will take all of the money that is left over, and I will split it up amongst my friends for them to use in one of two ways: (1) To accept as investment capital towards a business venture they've created a good business plan for, or (2) To donate to a charity of their choice straight away.  Either way, they won't see a dime of the money in their bank accounts, but they'll feel like they got some of the winnings and the money will end up in a good place.

Sixth, I will continue to work (though probably only part-time) and live a lifestyle similar to my current one.  Because I don't really need more than I already have.

There you have it, folks.  When you see my name and face on TV next to a huge check, you'll know to remind me of this very post.  ...If I haven't already been blinded by my riches and erased it from the internet.  (You never know.  Money changes people.)