My experiment with post-dating and manifesting my desired outcome did not work out as well as I'd hoped, although it would probably have helped if I'd actually bought a lottery ticket. Despite the best of intentions, I did not. I tried, though. Twice. The first time, we had missed the Sunday drawing and decided not to buy for Wednesday until we knew that no one had won Sunday and the second time, well, I guess I didn't really try, I just forgot because my dog was sick. (No, really, he's got the kennel cough.)
What I realized since the big winner from Winner is that even when it gets reset to $20 million dollars, if I actually ever won, if I won, I would be set for life with even that much money, which is, of course, the appeal of the lottery. But does that mean I should always play? After all, there is no guarantee and in fact, it's likely, that I could play every week for the rest of my life and never win big enough to recoup my losses, even if I only ever played a dollar a week. It is, after all, for entertainment only, not investment purposes.
But, people win. And some people win big. It's a strange form of gambling. When I'm at a casino, it's easy for me to reject it and say no way, because I know I'd lose a lot of little amounts and don't stand to win that much. But to win $20-200 million from $1 ... that's insidious. $52 per year isn't such a lot of money if I was entertained by the process, but I think I'm one of those people who would try changing around my numbers, but still want to keep my old numbers and oh, the pots getting bigger, bet get a few extra tickets and all that.
I guess that's what they call an addictive personality. Come by it naturally, though. And my whole family seems to really like gambling, so I should probably steer clear. Or at least wait for a big jackpot.
Showing posts with label addiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label addiction. Show all posts
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Crushed Tomatoes
What would you do if you were sentances to 15 years in prison? What would I do?
I have no idea.
I'm not sure I would survive 1 year in prison let alone 15 years. I don't know what prison is really like - I can only guess by what they show on TV, what ex-prisoners say on NPR and, oh yeah, by the stories my brothers tell me. Yes, my brothers have been to prison. 2 of 3. The third has some experience in jail, but has not been to prison...yet? I found out today that my youngest brother is likely to go back to prison for as long as 15 years. My heart feels like no more than a mess of crushed tomatoes in my chest.
There is relief that he will be off the streets - unable to hurt our mother, his wife, his children and any innocent bystanders. But I'm also not sure that America's prison system is doing anything more than that to help him or others like him. Years ago, he learned to shoot heroin while imprisoned and that is what has ahold of him now. I don't absolve my brother of his crimes - I hold him responsible for the choices he's made - but I also recognize that heroin has one of the highest addiction rates, that there are few effective and easily accessible therapies for such an addiction and that life as an ex-con predisposes one to relapse.
It's not so easy to just say that people make bad choices.
I don't want to infringe on any other person's right to a good night of sleep, but in addition to an ocean of grief at this latest familial tragedy, I'm also ANGRY. I'm angry that people can just brush off problems of addiction as other peoples' problems. I'm angry that doctors, compassionate people, can say, "we have done all we can, now it's up to them to make a better choice" as they drop their patients off at the homeless shelter where they will be surrounded by other addicts and may not be able to access social services. I'm angry that my little brother is going to prison where he may be beaten or raped.
And I feel guilty. That I'm over here at a safe distance, 2,200 miles away from my family, never having my home searched by the FBI, never having a fist raised to me, never being robbed by my own family, never having to comfort the children of an addict when they don't have enough to eat or when they're afraid because they don't know who is safe. I am relieved and I am guilty, because
There, but for the grace of God, go you or I.
I have no idea.
I'm not sure I would survive 1 year in prison let alone 15 years. I don't know what prison is really like - I can only guess by what they show on TV, what ex-prisoners say on NPR and, oh yeah, by the stories my brothers tell me. Yes, my brothers have been to prison. 2 of 3. The third has some experience in jail, but has not been to prison...yet? I found out today that my youngest brother is likely to go back to prison for as long as 15 years. My heart feels like no more than a mess of crushed tomatoes in my chest.
There is relief that he will be off the streets - unable to hurt our mother, his wife, his children and any innocent bystanders. But I'm also not sure that America's prison system is doing anything more than that to help him or others like him. Years ago, he learned to shoot heroin while imprisoned and that is what has ahold of him now. I don't absolve my brother of his crimes - I hold him responsible for the choices he's made - but I also recognize that heroin has one of the highest addiction rates, that there are few effective and easily accessible therapies for such an addiction and that life as an ex-con predisposes one to relapse.
It's not so easy to just say that people make bad choices.
I don't want to infringe on any other person's right to a good night of sleep, but in addition to an ocean of grief at this latest familial tragedy, I'm also ANGRY. I'm angry that people can just brush off problems of addiction as other peoples' problems. I'm angry that doctors, compassionate people, can say, "we have done all we can, now it's up to them to make a better choice" as they drop their patients off at the homeless shelter where they will be surrounded by other addicts and may not be able to access social services. I'm angry that my little brother is going to prison where he may be beaten or raped.
And I feel guilty. That I'm over here at a safe distance, 2,200 miles away from my family, never having my home searched by the FBI, never having a fist raised to me, never being robbed by my own family, never having to comfort the children of an addict when they don't have enough to eat or when they're afraid because they don't know who is safe. I am relieved and I am guilty, because
There, but for the grace of God, go you or I.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)