It was basically written.

I was going to talk about the excitement. I was going to mention that I was able to boost our normal coverage.

And, I was going to talk about the money.

But, as I sit here now, I can’t write any of it.

I got stiffed again. But, so did most of you.

I’m not alone in my depression.

I have years and years of this emotion to call upon as I wallow in the knowledge that once again I didn’t win the Dream House.

Thanks a lot, Sheriff Dunlap.

I respect the fact that you go out of your way to ensure that the 20 finalists are blindly selected, even donning a blindfold as you pick the tickets out of the bin.

But, next year, could you somehow wiggle it to the side in order to find the a ticket with “Laura Kessel” scribbled on it?

I promise not to say a word.

I’m sure no one else will, either.

Right? Exaaaaactly!

But, here we sit, a day before the lucky few get their key to try to unlock the door to the house off Girdled Road in Concord Township and I’m left to try to jigger my finances to somehow afford all the stuff that $200,000 prize would be buying me.

I wasn’t asking for much.

-- An iPad.

-- A new upstairs bathroom.

-- A little vacation.

The way I see it, after taxes, all that stuff would have been easy to tackle.

Now, it could take a while.

Thanks, Sheriff Dunlap.

I suppose I should be happy for those 20 people who will show up today to try out their keys.

Since 14 of them are from our coverage area, that makes it a little easier.

Whoever wins it, I hope they enjoy my basement.

Oops. I meant the basement.

When we were seeing our house for the first time, I told my husband I’d probably spend all my time in the master bedroom closet or in the basement, because those were the most liveable rooms.

I enjoyed the basement’s nooks and little spaces where so much activity could take place.

The purple didn’t hurt, either.

That big closet was like a whole other world, though.

I stood in there a long time, figuring which of my shoes would go on my new shoe shelves, and which would be tucked under the shelves.

Oh, I did it again. They’re not my shelves.

No, they and the rest of the house will belong to someone else after 2 p.m. Sunday.

I hope they enjoy it.

If they want to invite me over in a few months when they’re settled in, they know how to reach me.

I’ll gladly check out how they filled my shelves and how they’re enjoying my basement.

Oops. There I go again.

Thanks, Sheriff Dunlap.

LKessel@News-Herald.com

Twitter: @Lauranh