If I Won the Lottery

I’m in an interesting place right now — super dark, freaking out, with a low, constant hum of panic like an old refrigerator you can’t afford to replace. So I’m approaching things differently today.

What do you wanna do, Rain?
And then we do that.
Mostly.
Sort of.

Right now, we’re following the “traditional” morning routine — toast, almonds, tea, writing, exercise clothes that are absolutely not for exercising. Maybe later. Maybe not.

It’s up to me.

Complete control.

Except I don’t feel like I have control.

I could, in theory, fuck off, eat a ton of sweets, sleep all day, and everything would start falling apart within seventy-two hours because, yes, that’s a “fact” I read somewhere in undergrad or dance training or maybe a fever dream.

I don’t know.

Pressure is always there — go, go, go — but what I want is for that pressure to be unconscious, just part of life, not this forced survival tactic.

Small Things (That Still Hurt)

My wrists hurt from typing, which is fair. Carpal tunnel is probably tapping at the door.

And yeah, that guy in the show died — saw it coming from five miles away because they hit us over the head with his oldness like a giant plot gong.
He still didn’t look that old.

Whatever.

Rain, do you want the TV playing while you write?
No. No, I don’t.
Rain sounds? Okay. Maybe.

(We adjust. We adapt. We survive. Mostly.)

Focus, Leander – What Would You Do If You Won the Lottery?

First, pay off the debts, because that’s the kind of safety net my soul screams for every night at 3 AM when my heart tries to beat its way out of my chest.

Open savings accounts for the kids — immediately. No hesitation.

Hire an investor, because no offense, Rain, you’re doing your best, but you need a professional before you end up buying a haunted amusement park on a whim.

Travel the world.
With friends.
Or not.
As they wish.

Maybe This Is the Lottery

Maybe surviving this panic is the prize.

Maybe waking up, having tea, writing words — even when my wrists hurt and my brain is a shouting match — is the jackpot.

It’s weird.

I always thought that winning the lottery would mean absolute, total freedom. But I’m seeing now that even if I had a hundred million dollars raining down like confetti, I’d still have to do the work.

I’d still have to chip away at fear, one stupid, terrifying inch at a time.

Today’s Fear Inventory

What am I afraid of today?
— Ending up alone.
— Snapping.
— Losing myself and never finding the way back.

But also: I’m here.

Typing through it.

Toast. Almonds. Tea. Exercise clothes.

What matters is I’m still asking the questions:

• What do you need, Rain?
• How did you sleep?
• What are you grateful for?
• Any pains? Any joys?
• What did you dream about?
• What are you afraid of — and what tiny thing can you do today to be a little braver?

Maybe That’s the Real Lottery Win

Showing up.
Even when you’re terrified.
Especially when you’re terrified.

Okay, Rain.
Let’s keep going.