That Little Voice is a Dick

House Hunting in North Saanich, British Columbia

It’s close to my deadline for today’s writing challenge, and here’s the thing: I’ve written, re-written, deleted, and restarted this more times than I can count (five), and I just can’t find the groove of the story I most wish to share today. I also had to adjust the release time to 8 AM PDT. So, I’m going to tell you exactly what’s on my mind at this moment.

I’m terrible at checking LOTTO Tickets. When I got to Vancouver Island this week, I bought some lottery tickets on one of my walks, and I’ve been thinking about them all week long. I know one of them didn’t win the big prize on Tuesday, but I have no idea if I even won a free ticket.

I’m putting it off to keep the dream alive.

It’s fun to dream of “winning big,” and every once in a while, I daydream about what I would do if I ever won — anyone who has ever bought a ticket does that. That’s what you get for your money, the right to dream for a bit.

So there my tickets sit, waiting for me to check them, the dream still alive.

On one of my walks, while I was looking around for houses on the ocean to buy, I thought about this dream. “If I won the lottery, I would totally buy that house,” I said to myself.

‘Little Voice’ is a Dropbear who tells it like it is.

Immediately followed by a little voice that said, “Why would you wait until you ‘win’ the lottery?” Sometimes, my little voice can be a dick. “Stop waiting for things to happen, and go make them happen.

“Whoa there, Little Voice,” I say sternly, in my best I GOT THIS voice. “I’m working on it.

“Bullshit,” Little Voice comes at me, grabs me by the lapels, and slams me against a tree. “You’re too busy being too busy to focus on what you need to do to buy that house with cash you made. Not some stupid lottery.

“Ouch, Little Voice,” I whine. “There’s a branch in my kidney.

“Good,” he loosens his grip, and I slide down the tree so my feet can finally touch the ground. Little Voice looks me square in the eye and growls, “You want that house? Go finish those books you started writing.”

Pulling leaves, twigs, and bark from my hair, I get myself together. An elderly woman with a small dog named Bisket is staring at me from across the street. She reaches down, scoops up Bisket and starts to slowly back away. I smile and wave, “I think I’m going to buy this place!

On the walk back to my parent’s place I was whistling a happy tune while planning the next chapter of my book and the upcoming book launch. I barely noticed the Saanich Police cruiser following me out of the neighbourhood.




I do cool and weird shit with cool and weird people. Dad, biker, writer, speaker, artist, adventurer, doer of things, teacher of stuff.

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Michael Dean Dargie

Michael Dean Dargie

I do cool and weird shit with cool and weird people. Dad, biker, writer, speaker, artist, adventurer, doer of things, teacher of stuff.

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