I recently subscribed to NFL Sunday Ticket. Why am I consumed by guilt?

After the hell I’ve been through the past month, I decided to reward myself with a treat: a subscription to NFL Sunday Ticket.

But I’m consumed with guilt.

Why?

I’ve earned it, I tell myself. I drove 700 miles to a strange city where I knew nobody, had a major portion of my anatomy removed, drove back with a catheter and no pain meds, and now I’m teaching myself not to piss my britches – again, if you count the time when I was 1 year old.

I deserve a little treat, especially since I’m not supposed to exert myself or pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds until sometime in September.

I didn’t take any of the oxycodone they gave me, I canceled my subscription to Apple TV, and I’m making extra money ranting on social media, I remind myself. Surely those things count for something.

But it costs $240 a year, the miser in me whispers slyly. Next year that cost goes up to $480.

I signed up anyway. You know why?

Because I have spent my entire life pinching pennies, counting dollars and saving money for that fabled day when “I would need it.” Well, guess what?

Today is that day.

NFL Ticket is a luxury, yes. In four years the government will start cutting my Social Security income by damn near 20 percent unless Congress gets off its lying, thieving ass and does something to fix the problem, so I’ll be less able to afford it.

But I never, EVER do anything for myself.

So I signed up for it. If I don’t get the use out of it I expect, I’ll cancel at the end of the season. I refuse to feel guilty anymore.

Oh, and the damn Dolphins better learn how to win. I ain’t paying $480 a year to watch those bastards lose.

About the author:

Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”

Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.

As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.

Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .