The Secret of “poor”…

Today I discovered that just because you like to think you’re free to do nice things, doesn’t mean you actually are. Shocking, isn’t it! According to my book ‘The Secret’ which I devoured faster than a king size block of Cadburys not so long ago (and consequently bought for all my friends), the laws of attraction should mean that thinking about money coming into your life, makes it appear.

I love this notion. I lapped up when I read the words of the wise and spiritual people on the pages; totally believed them when they assured me that the universe will indeed deliver each and every one of us exactly what we want, as long as we believe it will, and go about life with a positive attitude.

I’m in the middle of planning my trip to Laos in the hope of finding my husband, who may or may not have come to me in a vision from God yesterday (see previous post on topic). BUT… and perhaps this is because I selfishly ignored the rest of God’s message about how He’s chosen me as one of the otherwise useless people He wants to help save the world in the event of a forthcoming natural disaster… the universe has thrown an irritating couple of spanners in the works. The friend who’s supposed to be coming with me is only able to leave work in April, which is the most expensive time to go anywhere. AND, on top of that, I checked my bank balance and it appears that I’m poor. Way too poor to be jetting off to Laos, whether I go on Saturday as originally planned, or ever. Which is shit.

Apparently the planet won’t pay for me to book a 16 day jaunt round Asia, just because I want to go and find my man. I KNOW!! Rubbish. According to the book, I should be able to subsidize my ridiculously luxurious lifestyle, just by envisioning that it’s possible. But it’s a LIE.

ANZ tell me otherwise, you see. ANZ tell me I can’t afford to jet off on a hubby hunt, and that I should probably stop being a spaz, and get a job. Hmph. As much as I seriously love this book, today, it has let me down. 😦

Dinosaurs, dancing and the curse of the itchy foot…

Last night was the most fun I’ve ever had in a museum! I’ve always rather liked museums, but I now have a new fave, and all because they made it COOL by allowing us to wander round with drinks, touch the stuffed animals and listen to live musicians strumming next to skeletons! My friends Monika, Autumn, Rod and Dale and I hung out at the Australian Museum all night, which has been re-named the Jurassic Lounge in a new COOL title to draw the crowds. (It’ll be called this for the next few Tuesdays). I learned something about what Aboriginals eat, watched giant beetles humping in a glass tank, and wore headphones while dancing at the silent disco, underneath the dinosaur bones. AMAZING. It was very New York, actually. Didn’t feel like I was in Sydney at all, which was good, as I’ve been getting itchy feet again recently. Urrrrgh.

It’s a very bad disease I have, this itchy-footedness. I’ve noticed it flares up roughly every eighteen months. Just as I get myself settled somewhere, surround myself with lovely people, score a suitable job and get quite comfy in a nice house, BOOM. I want to leave. I want to drag out that suitcase, dust off that rucksack and bugger off into the sunset. I can’t stand it and I can’t understand it. Why does this always happen? I’ve considered that I might just LIKE upheaval. It makes life interesting. It presents a challenge. But it’s not ideal when you’re prime baby-making material and most people your age are spending money on mortgages, rather than plane tickets. Why am I such an ungrateful cow-face? I know I’m not the only one… and I’ve tried to fight it but it just doesn’t work. Sydney is great and I’m loving it here, but that grass,… that green green grass, how it glistens temptingly on the other side. I think I was a rootless hippy called Rainbow in a past life.

Today I have mostly been thinking about Laos. I don’t know where it came from. One minute I was tapping away at my computer, writing something about bonus points for a bank, and the next, I had an image in my head. It flashed before my eyes, as clear as day. It was a rubber ring, on a river, in Laos. I googled it and the place exists. It’s called Vang Vieng. It’s a party scene, apparently… loads of people go to get spazzed out on magic mushrooms and puke up cheap booze. It sounds totally mental, and not very much like me, but this vision was sent to me from a higher force. I swear, it was!!! Perhaps from GOD!?

Oh God, why are you sending me to Laos, on my own? And why must I float down a river full of drugged up tourists? Is this my destiny? TELL ME, MY SAVIOUR!!!

Of course, I’ve considered that God might have actually been trying to tell me something more meaningful, you know, something other than the fact that I really should go on a nice holiday to Laos. I just jumped on the first bit of info He managed to convey. Perhaps He was to follow this vision with a hint at a plane crash, a natural disaster, something huge and terrifying that He was hoping I could warn people about in my spare time, seeing as my contract job is up on Friday. Maybe it’s my turn? I’ve read about normal people getting signs sometimes… like that man who saw a burnt Jesus face on a piece of toast, remember?

But selfishly, because of my disease, I stopped Him in his tracks, preferring the romantic notion that this very vivid vision, meant for me and me alone, was pointing me towards my future husband. Maybe he’s in Laos! Maybe he’s a carpet weaver, or a mushroom merchant, or a rubber ring manufacturer! How will I know, unless I go? (I can’t actually pronounce Laos either – does it have a silent ‘s’? I have no idea).

Anyway, like I said, my job is almost up and I’m not working next week, so I’m looking into flights. I might not move there just yet, but I can soothe my itchy feet while having a good look around for my hubby. And if he’s not there, maybe I’ll find God instead? Does anyone wanna come?