As I sat at my desk at lunch today, dining on a $1.50 frozen pasta dinner on the 10th floor of a building whose elevators are constantly under repair because they offered the contract to the Dollarama Elevator Repair Company, I fantasized about how wonderful it would be to win a decent amount of money, kitting up like Mary Poppins, and quitting my job while singing a revised version of her chipper song describing how great she feels: SupercalifragilisticexpialiFUCKthis…
I tried to cut and paste a photo of my dog Henry’s head to Dick Van Dyke’s body, but it didn’t work properly – and I didn’t want the world to know that I haven’t mastered MS Paint.
It’s not that I hate my job… it’s just that I’d rather be doing something else… somewhere else….
I’d become a Bohemian fortune-teller, aimlessly travelling with my crew of wild beasts through a warm and romantic land – like Spain. When I bumped into my first love (teenage, unrequited) last summer, we went for a pint to catch up and, during our conversation, he said I’d do well in Spain. He’s half-Spanish and had spent the last 15 years in Madrid, so I figured he knew what he was talking about. “Why is that?” asked I. Because I smile a lot, said he. I’m not sure, but I think he might have been saying that I look like I have ‘special needs.’ (Incidentally, he turned out to be a major disappointment – and it was quite obvious by his condescending and sarcastic tone, that I was a disappointment to him. C’est la vie.)
I’d call myself Madame Esperanza, and I’d spread hope to the lovelorn… hope in the knowledge that you don’t need another person to be happy; and the realization that, in fact, other people oftentimes just make you miserable.
I would use my Russian Gypsy Fortune Telling Cards for their colourful beauty and simple, yet interesting, spreads, and speak with a mish-mash of different accents to add some mystique and, therefore, allure. That’d be my gimmick – the indiscernible accent.
I would have a bold, completely cluttered vardo with tons of beads, little lights, wildflowers, and vibrant fabrics in the interior. And an intricately painted exterior:
And then there are the beasts – the dogs, the cat… and the new additions: two Vanner horses – they’re like big, beautiful, majestic dogs that don’t roll on smelly things and probably don’t eat garbage off the ground:
Our days would be spent wandering through villages and towns, learning the language, meeting new people, hearing their stories. My fortune-telling fees would be minimal – a few carrots for the horses and dogs, some catnip for the cat. My reward would be the simplicity and beauty and randomness of it all. I would read and write and draw and ride the horses; the beasts would run and play and nap.
In the evenings, we would eat and dance by a fire… sometimes drifting off to sleep by the warmth of the flickering flames. And in our sleep, we’d dream of the wildflowers rustling in the breeze as we wander by, the horses’ hooves occasionally kicking up dust, and the sound of children laughing as they play – blissfully ignorant of what drudgery life will probably have in store for them.
Life would be…