I was chatting with a friend on gtalk the other day and was, as usual, complaining about work. He mentioned something about wishing he had a billion dollars and my imagination went on overdrive. I was suddenly filled with hopeful spleandor at the thought of not having to worry about money.
I realised too that it was something I had never thought about, mostly because of my roots and the fact that I know I’ll have to work for money for the rest of my life – and I had accepted that. I like working; I just wish I was paid more. But that’s besides the point.
My instinctual fantasy was this:
I’d bartend in a cute little Irish Pub with regulars consisting of all sorts of people from all walks of life, in Greece. I’d want to work Monday to Thursday 9am to 5pm and have my evenings and weekends off. Notice the four day work week? This is a fantasy after all.
Then I started building on this fantasy:
In the evening and on the weekends, I’d spend time on my yacht sailing around the islands or off in my plane where I can go sky diving. After work in the evenings, I’d walk through the vineyard and then down to the cellar and pick out a nice bottle of red for dinner. I’d cook my own meals and probably have seafood every night… lobster, crab, mussels, fish, scallops and of course my absolute favourite shrimp!
Thinking this way put a huge smile on my face… a smile that has been missing from my face for a long time now. This chat with my friend made me realise what it was that I was missing from my life. I had somehow lost the one thing that kept me going through everything that I ever go through. Losing this had caused me to become bitter and even whiny. Now I just have to try and hold on to my hope. Its the first time in a really long time that I had lost it so I wasn’t really sure what I was missing until now.
I have my friend to thank, but he’s going to remain anonymous because I’m not sure he’d want to be advertised… but thank you.
What would you do if you had a billion dollars?
This is a bit of an old story, but I’ve had a busy weekend so this is all you get. 😉
Monique wanted to know about my bus ride home from my recent trip to NYC (read journal entries 1, 2 & 3) when I proclaimed that it wasn’t that great on July 7. So I’m dedicating this post to her…
I should’ve seen it as an omen that the bus ride home wasn’t going to be as smooth as the ride over to New York. And I was expecting that I wouldn’t get much sleep on the bus after I discovered that both my Bubble and I had misread the information on where the bus would be leaving from. Granted my worst fear of being packed in like sardines wasn’t realised but having to be semi-aware the whole overnight ride wasn’t that much better.
The bus driver was a really nice guy, but he drove like a maniac. The bus wasn’t that packed so I was able to get two seats all to myself, which meant that I could fold up my legs, lean them up against the window and lay my back flat on the two seats. This was great during the ride over because there was quite a bit of traffic so he couldn’t drive that fast on the curvy highway. But because it was an overnight bus, there wasn’t that much traffic so he was zipping by at a kazillion miles an hour around all the bends. This meant that every now and the bus would jerk and the image of my ass firmly hitting the ground and the entire bus laughing at me would periodically invade my dream of the private concert John Mayer was holding for me.
It wasn’t the worst that could’ve happened, but it did mean that when I got home all I could do was sleep some more and I’m pretty sure that messed up my chances of getting the interview with the new lead the placement agency has been trying to get for me – because I couldn’t call her to tell her when I was available when I was asleep, now could I? Of course, I probably could’ve called when I woke up at noon, but I forgot.
Of course, this happened a while ago… so forgetting to call the agency isn’t that big of a deal anymore. ;P
It started with a nearly missed early morning flight and a lot of running. But it was pretty smooth sailing after that. When we finally got off the bus in Paris from Beauvais airport, there was a moment where we were completely lost and had no idea how to get to our hotel so we went into an Irish pub for a drink. Once there we found a nice South African bartender who knew the best way we could get to our hotel. The metro is one of the best subway systems in the world. The hotel was not great. Our bathroom floor filled with water after every shower, and the room smelled like smoke even though it was a non-smoking room. But non of it mattered. Everyone was in a great mood.
We wanted to visit the Musee de Louvre the first day we were there, but it closed at 5:30 p.m. and we took too long getting ready to eat lunch. So we took a walk along Boulevard de Strausborg, continued down Rue de Sebastopol and walked around the Louvre for a bit. We went out that night, but we didn’t stay up as late as everyone else. We wanted to get up early the next day and give the Musee de Louvre a proper visit. We only really wanted to see the Mona Lisa, and the Venus de Milo but we were able to see the Raft of the Medusa, The Madonna and many others as well. Afterwards we went back to the hotel for a bit of a nap, and got ready to go to the match. Oh the match. What a heartbreaking experience. Even the little bit of hope Brian O’Discoll’s try had was bittersweet. After the match, we drank. We drank our sorrows away. Then we had dinner. And we drank some more. And when we couldn’t drink anymore, we went to see the Eiffel tower. Luckily, we caught it while it was still open. And it was amazing! We went all the way up to the top, shared our romantic kisses, got some photos taken. Then we headed back into the area of the hotel, for a couple more drinks. And it was early to bed.
The last day, we were able to go down to the Arc de Triomphe and Galleria La Fayette and walk along Champs Ellesse. The flight even left on time, and then we got to immigration. Let’s just say it was a very scary experience. But I won’t get into that at all. I’m just going to leave it at it was very scary and the scare brought us so much closer than I thought we could be. And for all those reasons… Paris was the best holiday I’ve ever been on. And so was born, my most recent catch phrase: Paris, I love you!