It’s the not knowing that kills you

There’s a song on Word Gets Around, the debut album of the Welsh band The Stereophonics called “Same Size Feet”. It’s far from my favourite on the album (that’s probably “More Life in a Tramp’s Vest”, “A Thousand Trees” or “Too Many Sandwiches”) but it has a line which I think is one of the lyrics I find truest in life. Well, aside from Queen’s “Fat bottomed girls you make the rocking world go round”.

The line is “it’s the not knowing that kills you”.

I find it quite appropriate in lots of different situations, sometimes knowing something is ten times worse than knowing. Even if the news is bad.

For example, I’ve been torturing myself with an unknown variable for the last couple of months.

Over the summer I bought myself a lottery ticket, because I am a dreamer and a fool who despite knowing the odds still hopes that one day my lucky numbers will come up (yes, I’m the kind of idiot who has lucky numbers, even though those lucky numbers have never been particularly lucky for me) and I’ll be posting my next blog entry from a tropical island while drinking a cocktail with an umbrella in it.

Anyway, I bought this ticket and did the lucky dip thing.

Somewhere on the walk back home from the shop the ticket fell out of my torn shorts pocket.

Because it was a lucky dip I don’t know my numbers and that’s the problem.

If they were my regular numbers I could have just checked the result and seen that I’d won or didn’t win. But alas I couldn’t, and that’s what’s been tormenting me since.

Seriously, I think it would be better if I knew my numbers because even if I had won millions I couldn’t claim at least I could get angry and curse the universe for continuing its streak of being a sadistic bastard with a cruel sense of humour.

Anger, frustration and feeling wronged is one thing- that can pass. Or at least be released.

But the “what if?” hanging over me is a nightmare.

Nagging away is the thought that I may very well have been a millionaire by now. I know I probably didn’t win, hell, I’m almost positive I didn’t, but that tiny shred of doubt twists like a knife in my mind.

I wouldn’t have anything to worry about, cash wise. I could be living well at uni, knowing that come the holidays I could give great gifts to my family members and go abroad next year to de-stress during the uni breaks.

Instead, I’m probably going to have to work over the holidays next year, my gifts will be cheap and crappy, which will make me feel guilty. I can cope with it, but knowing I might have been able to live easy, live free, that sucks. The daydreams about visiting New York or relaxing in Thailand still lurk there, messing with me.

The universe sucks.

Any thoughts? You know what to do. BETEO.


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