I have received the latest communique from my steady pen pal, Publishers Clearing House (cool street cred nickname: PCH).*
But, uh, oh--look there-- on the conveniently supplied return envelope (see, PCH does still care!) there's a little pop quiz! I must decide and check a box. But which one to choose? Damn, these mind games!
"Yes, I want to be the $25,000.00 winner."
"No, I have no desire to be a winner."
Trick question! The answers don't balance.
Like choosing between:
Yes, I want a one-year subscription to Infected Sores Monthly.
No, I've no interest in breathing.
There's just no way to answer that. One year would never be enough!
It would be different if the second option said "No, I don't want to be the $25,000.00 winner." I could live with not winning the $25K.
But to have no desire to be a winner at all? That's kinda sad.
I fear if I check that box, I will instantly become one of those white trash harpies with a beehive hairdo, cat glasses, and a Camel Light dangling with an inch of ash still attached, who is bedecked in a torn Old Navy t-shirt, Kmart "Juicy" sweatpants and dirty slippers, who hangs out at the liquor store playing and losing Keno. Over and over again.
But if I acknowledge that I want the $25K, does this mean my whole relationship with PCH was only about the money???
Some days, I so just want to walk away. But I know, deep down, I can't. PCH may not be ready to go public but I know ours is a forever love.
* PCH ignores my pleas to get back together and keeps it at a casual level. I'm all like "We had good times..." And PCH is all like "It's all about the magazines, Baby." And I'm all like "Come on..." *wink* and PCH is all like "Now, you're just grossing me out."