Yes, I have been to a numerologist (once) who gave me an uncannily accurate description of my life, leanings and also individual family members on the strength of our names and birth dates. Ha, and my obstetrician laughed when I accused him of interfering in the whole life plan and astral chart of one of our baby's when her birthdate was arranged around his annual tarentaal shoot. RIP dear old friend, I miss you so much, as you were so much more than a medical man to our family, you who safely brought our two precious angels into the world.
Hey, but now that you mention it, this was the one family member whom she couldn't give me any really accurate information about; makes me think, hmmm...? Cosmic confusion when medical science and the scalpel interfere with the stars, what? But my faith in numbers is steadfast, and (further confessions of a cosmic traveller) I splash out five bucks a week taking a Lotto ticket using our birthdays and anniversary dates, utterly and absolutely convinced that a BIG win is out there (to be shared with all of you, obviously) just when I don't need the spare cash.
Anyway, enough of confessions, as Mr SQ, who I know sneaks a look at this blog from time to time, will now know where the money I squirrel away in the jam jar goes. He, dear, sweet, sensible, steadfast, indulgent, (I swear I never mentioned the word "stubborn") man that he is, laughs at these leanings of mine. His answer to all female problems is a prescription for a Vitamin P injection (though not for his daughters, needless to say!!) and his analysis of dreams (yes, I have my dream book right next to my bed as well) is that it is all psychosexual. When any dream theme comes up in the mornings, The Misses SQ just roll their eyes and say, "You know what Dad would say." So I won't tell him that while I was all alone here last night I had a dream about a nest of snakes in my jar of Herbs de Provence. Figure that one out Freud!? Needless to say, the book says snakes are symbolic (no kidding) of suppressed sexuality or creativity. Let's hope for the latter and that writing this blog for you dear sweet friends and family (any strangers out there, I'd love to know?) will put paid to whatever brought that on. Of course analysing dreams is a great line to be in, and I believe there are university courses on it in the USA. I mean, who's to say if you're wrong or right? It's hardly an exact science. Maybe that should be my next party trick...
Funnily enough, I've never been to a fortune teller, far too Catholic for that, but I have gone to great lengths to have my aura photographed in Singapore. I found myself in a purely Chinese mall; the taxi driver had been a little taken aback when I asked to go there, far from Orchard Road, where nobody spoke English and all manner of suspect looking creatures were hanging ghoulishly from the food stalls. Now I challenge you to try to explain your desire to have your aura photographed by means of sign language. I was coerced into a reflexology stall by the only person who seemed to have any inkling of what I was hoping to do as a trade off for directions, and given a heavenly foot massage, though the rubber -flip flops- in any public shower- girl in me was horrified with what I might acquire there, having first had a hot foot jacuzzi type thing. I asked him about my pressure points, afraid of what he might say about my liver after a spot of high living, but he seemed perplexed, referred to his manual, and told me about something most worrying, of which I was totally unaware, and which was diagnosed the week of my return home. But not to worry, kids, I think and hope it's all under control now, and your daily frothy column is still under way for the forseeable future...
Yes, I did finally get my aura photographed by a sweet young thing, it was such fun, and yes, she did say lovely things about the lights which radiated all around me. But you all knew that anyway, didn't you?
All these harmless attempts to better understand oneself, loved ones and life patterns are a lot more helpful and a lot less traumatic than sitting in front of an unsympathetic, nodding shrink, surrounded by a sea of sodden snot rags, pretending to have had a happy childhood. (Just don't ask me how I figured that out, whatever you do! Your Suzy Q just listens and learns a lot.) Had I had the good fortune of being born to nurturing, stable parents, I might not be starting out at this late stage of my life to try to fulfill a lifetime dream, by writing this blog, but hey, my good luck has come later in life. My formative years made "Survival" my middle name, and it really is never too late to learn to skate, nor to have a happy childhood now, that's what I say!
So please keep reading, I can't tell you how much your encouragement and support means to me. THANK YOU one and all. (You do know that you can leave a comment or email me on suzyqueue75@gmail.com? C'mon, please do, it keeps me going and the ink flowing... Now, what'll it be - a poetry page next?))
Love,
Suzy Q
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