Two days ago we got Chris’ first student loan bill. And then I went to bed for two days and refused to face any form of reality. In my bed I dreamed of rendevous with Anthropology, Banana Republic, and Betsy Johnson. I dreamed of nightly visits to the Sushi Palace. I dreamed of new cars, new houses, and new shoes. I dreamed of endless afternoons at Target, filling my cart with useless treasures like new face washes and scarves I would never wear. And when I finally forced myself to get out of bed and face reality, the student loan invoice was, sadly, still sitting on my kitchen counter where I had dropped it in horror.
I get the feeling that student loans are one of those unexpected joys that life sometimes hands you – like the ice cream truck on a random Tuesday afternoon or a root canal. I knew it was coming, but I still never expected it. And so, here I sit. Contemplating the sparse offerings of my checking and savings accounts and crying over our two paychecks which at one time seemed more than enough. I have always been a fan of saving for a rainy day. But I think when you have student loans, you have a rainy day once a month when your bill arrives. I’ll call it Monsoon Mondays. On Monsoon Mondays, I will have to reach into my rainy day fund and hand over my humble earnings like I once handed over my lunch money to a bully.
Monsoon Mondays. I see no way to avoid them, but I’m a proactive person. I need a solution. I need activism. I need an answer.
I need to win the lottery.
That’s right. In this situation, there is only one logical solution. Play the lottery. So I did. This morning I bought at Connecticut Lottery ticket and a Powerball ticket. I feel hopeful. I mean, how hard can it be? Someone has to win, and why shouldn’t it be me? I wish I could submit an application in writing when I bought my ticket though. I could have laid out our financial crisis, blamed the economy like everyone else, talked about our strong marriage and how of course we didn’t need money to be happy – we just need it to keep a roof over our heads and to feed our dogs because isn’t that what the American dream is all about? Yeah, I bet I could have won the lottery with a written statement.
Sadly, they don’t ask for a written statement when you buy a lottery ticket. The gas station clerk didn’t even look up at me. So, here I sit. With a mortgage payment, bills to pay, shoes to buy, and a student loan bill that makes me wish I had actually read the textbooks that are now costing me hundreds of dollars in interest.
But I have my lottery tickets. And I’m hopeful…