A Physcologist or a Lottery Ticket

Is it considered talking to yourself when you're not actually speaking out loud? I couldn't sleep last night after the Celtics/Lakers playoff game (Go Rondo), so I laid in bed and had a 2 hour conversation playing in my head.
Actually it was more of an interview. An interview with Oprah Winfrey to be exact. She was interviewing me because I had recently won the lottery and signed all the winnings over to the Red Cross. This act of charity had somehow managed to get me 15 minutes of fame, much like when baby Jessica fell in the well or more recently any of the forty women Tiger Woods had escapades with.
I'm invited to Oprah Winfrey's home in Hawaii for the interview but I decline, it's February, and basketball season here in Kentucky and I've managed to score floor seats for my family for the game (again, because of my act of charity and 15 minutes of fame). (I'm well aware that it is currently June but in my head this is all happening in the future, yet another bizarre aspect I may want to discuss with my physcologist that I obviously need). So, Oprah flies to Lexington for our interview. She accompanies me to the UK game where I actually get to be the Y at the end of the KENTUCKY cheer during a second half time out. Oprah gets to do the Y too, I mean come on, she is Oprah Winfrey after all.
We discuss several things. I tell her I donated the money because quite frankly, it was all a bit overwhelming. There are lots of charities I would have liked to give to, The Kings Center in Frankfort, The Lupus Foundation of America, a start up fund for a state of the art physical therapy center for children and adults of all ages for my friend Angie, and the foundation I want to start, Lasting Memories, which would send deserving low income families on a vacation of a lifetime. I knew I would never be able to get it all donated and figured out, plus I was scared I would end up blowing most of it on things I didn't truly need like a 3 story brown stone in Brooklyn or an upper east side penthouse in Manhattan.
We talk about my mom and my Mema, their hardships and humor. I tell her my dad was a wonderful person with the terrible disease of achololism. We talk about what a God send my Aunt Linda was and still is to step in and raise not only my younger brother but to always be there for me. How we would never be able to repay her. This of course brings us to my brother. I tell Oprah how proud I am of Michael. How he's worked so hard for everything in his life. How he's been through so much yet never complains or plays the sympathy card. I tell her how excited I am that he has recently been elected to the Frankfort City Commission (don't forget this interview is taking place in February, a mere 2 months after the November elections). She shows a picture of Michael and I on election night, me in my orange and blue Michael Turner for City Commission shirt and him in an ugly v neck maroon sweater. I'm not sure why he's wearing that sweater. And speaking of elections I say how great it feels that Kentucky has replaced an out of date right winger Jim Bunning with a young, smart and might I add liberal Jack Conway.
On to my life she says, and I reply that I am just about the luckiest person I know. I have wonderful friends, an amazing family and good health. I wake up everyday feeling blessed beyond measure. We talk about how grateful I am for my husband, Joe. That yes he does 100 things a week that annoys me just as I am sure I do 101 things that annoy him. All in all, I say, He's a generous man, a great father, and no matter what I fix for dinner he always tells me, "it was good honey, thank you". I'm eating the same food so I know it's not always good, hell it's not even usually good, but I appreciate that he says it and it's the little things like that that I'm thankful for.
She asks me about the people who have shaped my life. Wow, I say, there are so many people where would I start. All of my friends parents always treated my like their own. I tell her one of the reasons I care so much for the Kings Center is because Randy and Pat Bacon were so good to me growing up. They fed me most every night of the week and I'm pretty sure I slept at their house much more often than my own in high school.
I tell her about Carolyn, and how much her house still feels like home to me.
I get a little choked up when I tell her about Jim and Diana and how I strive every day to be as wonderful a parent as they are and as good a person as they are. They provided a stable and nurturing home when I needed it the most, and I will cherish them for the rest of my life. They are amazing people.
We discuss my church family and my faith in God. My God is a God of love and forgiveness not a God of hell and damnation. I tell her I wish more people were that way.
We bond over golden retrievers. ( I know she has them because they were on the cover of her magazine one month, I'm a subscriber). My dog Buffett, I say, is so dumb but he's a sweetheart and I wouldn't trade him for anything. Even though you could stuff a mattress with the amount of dog hair that floats around my house.
he tells me she heard that I recently turned down an offer to present a Humanitarian Award at this year's Academy Awards. (Seriously folks, I was really tired but I just could not go to sleep and my mind was really racing. It's too bad there isn't a switch you can turn to shut off part of your brain, you know the part not needed to keep me alive). Anyway, I tell her that is correct, I turned it down because my son Alec has a basketball game that night that I don't want to miss but also for another reason. I don;t want to fly across the country to present an award in front of a bunch of overpaid, spoiled Hollywood stars who get all dressed up to go out and tell each other other how wonderful they are. Give me a break.
On a side note, there have been other nights when I've not been able to fall asleep where I practice my acceptance speech for winning an Oscar for a breakout performance in a blockbuster movie. It goes a little something like this:
I think George Wolfe is an awesome director and I'm humbled that he took a chance and casted a no name like me for this film. I'll never be able to thank him enough. However, the real people who should be getting awards are all the real people out there. The single moms working 2 and 3 jobs to keep food on the table and pay rent, the men and women in our military who risk their lives day in and out for the betterment of other people. Some see and experience things we can't even imagine in our worst nightmares, they come home to strained relationships and lousy vet care. What about the people living in third world countries who walk for three miles just to get a bucket of mostly dirty water. Where are their awards? I figure by this time the music is sounding and the screen is saying wrap it up so they can go to commercial. I walk off the stage and leave a stunned audience behind. I wouldn't even go to the damn awards ceremony but it was in my contract so I had to.
Back to last night's night daydream - I tell Oprah, I think Hollywood is spoiled and awards season nauseates me. My friend Nora is a single mom of 3 boys. She works her butt off all day, come homes to feed, clean, and educate her kids, runs all three boys to various sports practices and games during every season there is, football, basketball, baseball. All this times 3. She does without complaining because she is an awesome mom. Where's her award? Where's her $1. 2 million borrowed jewelry from Harry Winston, her Channel dress, and Jimmy Choo shoes? Fucking Hillary Swank has them because she acted like a boxer in a movie. Plus she got millions of dollars to do that job. What sense does this make?
After the interview Oprah agrees and buys Nora a brand new car, a Honda Pilot. It's not $1.2 million worth of diamonds and platinum but it's a start.
I admit to Oprah that I am a hypocrite though, because I would gladly accept an invitation to hand out an award at the Tony's or the Espy's. This leads into how much I love sports. We talk awhile about this.
Before the interview is over she asks me if there is anyone I'd like to trade places with for a day.
Of course, I say, Minka Kelly. That girl (only I don't say girl but I've cussed enough in this interview already) anyway, that girl gets paid to kiss and make out with Taylor Kitch on tv and is marrying Derek Jeter in real life. Hell, where do I sign up?!
Later I think Derek Jeter will see the interview and send me a big bouquet of flowers, an autographed jersey, and a note the reads, "if we had only met sooner".
Come on, this was my night daydream and I just gave away $16.4 million can't a girl have a little fun while trying to fall asleep?
So, this is when I decided that I wasn't getting to sleep anytime soon and perhaps I should just get up. I stumbled downstairs to the family room and started writing, hoping to not wake my husband. Unfortunately I did wake him, I guess that's one of the 101 things I'll do this week to annoy him.
You tell me, should I immediately make an appointment with the best doctor of physcology I can find or should I just wait until February and buy my first lottery ticket ever?