Mary Panza at Word Fest 2011

I have had a bit of the blahs. I don’t feel like doing anything. I mean anything. I go through the motions but I find myself slipping into my favorite day dream: the lottery day dream.

I fantasize about how much I would need to survive for the rest of my life. I could probably make due with a couple of million. I wouldn’t have to work. I would get a personal trainer and work out every day like it was my job. I would send my girl to private school and get her some lady lessons. Don’t laugh. I got nothing to teach her in that department. She asked me this morning what the difference was between knickers and knockers. She could use some lady lessons. I would get thin and gorgeous. I would eat only organic and redo my kitchen so it was more efficient. I would cook every day for my girl and 3b. Run marathons and be peaceful. Then the day dream usually goes that I really hate exercise. I would probably hire a trainer and after the first round of legs, I would make an appointment and not keep it. I wouldn’t answer his call either. Fuck that, the day dream goes. I am rich. I will get gastric bypass and call it a day. I wouldn’t cook either. I have spent all day hiding from the trainer in my day dream. I have anxiety just thinking about it. We will order in. Fuck it, I got the money. HA! I say in the day dream. I don’t have to cook and why would I want to tear my house up? Nothing is broke so why waste money fixing it. I could just buy another house. Then I would need more money if I wanted to buy the house outright. I would need money for taxes. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t hire a cleaning lady. I would become paranoid she was trying to kill me for my money even though I pay by check and NEVER keep cash in the house.

I then wonder if I would have to be on TV or if my name would be made public. Oh great. What would I wear? I don’t want to talk to anyone. I was raised not to talk about money with people. It is impolite. Oh crap. Who would come out of the wood work looking and wanting to be my friend? Fuck that. Listen, if or when I ever win a large sum of money and haven’t talked to you for six months or more, go screw. I am not interested. I always dream about saying, “go screw” to people although I pretty much do that now. I would be sad that people only wanted me to be their friend because of money. This is where the fantasy begins to go downhill.

There would be confusing taxes and then you would need accounts. You would also need a lawyer and a wealth manager. Those guys don’t work cheap and who can you trust? I just want to be rich, not work, take care of my family and wear sweatpants all day. I want to be able to go to poetry readings and dinner and hang out and not have to worry about getting up for work the next day. I want to have enough to pay bills and buy groceries and not always fall three dollars short of making it. I want security and fun and no bra weeks.

As you can see, as I let you into my head, I am nuts. I always let too much reality into my fantasies. I like to think that if or when it happens that I will be prepared. As if I could be prepared for millions. I am not prepared for most things but I keep playing the lottery. I keep my sweatpants close at all times. I am writing this braless. I am nuts. I keep day dreaming, usually about not wearing a bra.