What's it like to be one number away?

The Floridian who won that $590 million Powerball prize is going to get a lot of attention.

But I find myself wondering about folks who were one number away.

Three such tickets were sold in Iowa:

A total of 77,640 tickets purchased by Iowa Lottery players won prizes ranging from $4 up to $40,000. Two tickets purchased at Iowa locations in Fort Dodge and Aurelia matched four of the first five numbers and the Powerball to win prizes of $10,000 each. One more also matched those same numbers, but had the Power Play option added to it, so that ticket purchased in Dubuque won a prize of $40,000.

Real money, to be sure. Congrats.

But what sort of Monday morning did those folks have? They're probably going through their typical routine. Maybe they're heading off to the work site or the plant or the cubicle. Except that, on this Monday, they're grooving through the usual grind with the unusual knowledge that they were one good old Arabic numeral away from sharing a fortune.

I hope they're saying, “Hey! Ten grand (or 40 grand)! Not too shabby,” with a song in their optimistic heart and spring in their step. The sun is shining. The glass is half full. Better than a swift kick in the pants, eh? That's the spirit.

Man, I wish I were one of those people.

I have a feeling my own internal dialogue would be less uplifting. A speculative sampling:

“Oh, it's fine. It's fine. Typical, but fine. Just how things always seem to work out for me, but, still, fine.

“What would I do with some gargantuan pile of money anyway? I'd probably just blow it on making beer runs to Belgium, developing a powerful atomic laser inside a dormant volcano on an isolated island or forming a Super PAC to fight for universal lawn care. I'm better off without it, right? Clearly. Dodged a golden bullet.

“I picked my numbers. No regrets. So what if this means that the date of my birth has now been transformed into a poignant reminder of the fateful fortune that eluded my grasp by mere inches? Adding that plot twist to the normal birthday realization of precious sand slipping swiftly through the hourglass of life isn't going to bother me one bit. No sir.

“Sure, I might think about it from time to time. Maybe when the credit card bills come, or when the van makes a horrible noise or when my employer wises up and realizes that hackneyed opinions are everywhere and free, I'll recall this close shave with infinite financial security. And I'll chuckle, knowingly.

“But, really, this as a chance to count my blessings. Family and health and happiness are what matter. When you have it all, who needs a Powerball? Not this guy. It's only money. Granted, potentially more than the GDP of Palau, but still just money. Just a number. One number. One stinking number...”