Go big or do nothing at all

I pop in to see Bakerman after work to cheer him up and to check on how sick he really is. Het is not going well at all, temperature running high and a vague expression on his face. His body and his entire being is clearing his energy field of all the negativity that has accumulated. What I am about to hear is going to call the beginning of a brand-new era in our lives.

“Oh hi,” I greet him as I bustle into his bakery atelier. “My conf call turned out to be postponed. And I’m a bit late.”

“Better than never,” Bakerman smiles meekly, happy to see me.

“So my mother, positive evolution?” I ask him cutting straight to the chase.

“I am going to have a slice of cake and a big cup of tea now,” Bakerman skuttles around his workplace slowly gathering deliciously smelling items. “Do you want some?”

“Yesss please. Chocolate cake?” I am looking around at all the tempting things he has concocted. “Wim is going to start a blog too now. Fun huh.”

“I don’t know,” Bakerman has his back to me as he is shaking and trying carefully to prepare two big mugs of fresh tea. “My job is to help you look at alternatives instead of a single point of view that may or may not be correct.”

“Mmmm lost me,” I sigh as I take a big bite of the chocolate creamy cake he just placed in front of me. “Great cake though.”

“What was the whole reading for your mom?” Bakerman turns to face me now holding out a hot steamy mug of tea. I accept his offer quickly afraid he might spill half of the hot brew in his clumsy sickness.

“She’s financially well off but can’t see it,” I start recounting what the story of my wild unknown tarot cards. “She reaps what she sows with me and my brother. Too much in control. A big change is coming, sudden. And she’ll be upset. But it’s a blessing in disguise. In two years she will meet a new love interest. I told her to do AirBnB for extra income. Or English conversation. Or cake workshops. How to make a blue cake for instance. Hope renewed. Connect to the force within.”

“Was she not an accountant or something?” Bakerman asks as he slowly stirs his tea with a small dainty spoon.

“No she was an administrative assistant at the army,” I tell him. That translates into less than a secretary. “She liked to pretend she was very important.”

“Oh,” Bakerman shrugs as he takes a first sip of his tea.

“And she liked to copy the military,” I could go on forever on details regarding my mother. “She said she never saved for her pension. Can anybody really be so reckless?”

“Yes sure,” Bakerman nods at me unblinkingly.

“She says she only has one income,” I go over the inconsistencies with my best friend. “Does this mean my brother doesn’t contribute to paying the costs of living at home?”

“Of course not,” Bakerman laughs. “Your mother should have put him in a special nursing home years ago.”

“Haha,” I enjoy a good laugh. “Yes she should. I think he only works part time. Lazy sod.”

“The best way to treat your brother is to get him help in finding a job and keeping it then throw him out,” Bakerman eyes me coolly from his puffy red face.

“My mother will never throw him out,” I shake my head looking down at the tea mug resting in my lap. “I told her she should get him to move on. But always excuses.”

“She knows he can’t survive on his own,” Bakerman mocks.

“Yup,” I sigh.

“Make sure you teach your kids the value in achievement,” Bakerman warns me.

“I do all the time,” I smile back at him. “And they do chores.”

“Discipline is very good for kids,” Bakerman confirms.

“Yes I dont want morons like my brother,” I pull a funny face as I think of that genetic failure.

“Does he know he is the village idiot in Turnpoint Mountains?” Bakerman hears all the gossip in town as people come and go in his bakery. “There is another one very similar in Emelo Woods too. Guy is 40 and never worked a day in his life. Lived at home from birth.”

“I don’t think so,” I go on thinking deeply. My mother would have said something if it were the case. “Some call him ‘bambi’. My mother thinks that’s endearing somehow.”

“You should tell him,” Bakerman urges me. his fever clearly rising inside of him. “The whole village knows about him and laughs at him.”

“The village thinks he’s a little old man,” I tell him about the rumours I have heard. “They think he’s my mom’s boyfriend. Nobody believes me when I tell them he’s my brother. They laugh when I say he’s my younger brother. Incredible.”

“It was suggested once that I should offer free treatment for him,” Bakerman is holding my gaze. I remember him offering to talk to my brother last year, but that was the other brother.

“Yes you should,” I push him a little. I’m starting to wonder how much of the fever is actually doing the talking.

“No,” Bakerman shakes his head resolutely. “Incest cases are not my thing.”

“How is he involved in incest?” I am shocked to my core. Is there a simple way to talk to a man delirious with fever? “You mean with my mother? Now it is weird how they live together. Go on vacation together.”

“Who knows the truth,” Bakerman shrugs. “Such is the rumour.”

“Sleep in same bed on vacation,” I go over the weird evidence accumulating under my unbelieving eyes. “It is the rumour, I know. But it can’t be true.”

“Why not? I had a case like this long ago,” Bakerman remembers sourly. “Father and son were fighting all the time. Fist fighting and father couldn’t figure it out. Son was fucking mother and became possessive. Mother preferred fucking son. Son is now living in a mental institution as he is screwed up from this. Both parents are dead now. He has been a basket case for years. Hated having to submit a report to the authorities.”

“Oh my that sounds bad,” I shake my head. I know I can’t cope with even hearing about such things. I’d rather live in my peaceful little world, without drama and terrible stories only my birth family could come up with. “I couldn’t cope with cases like that.”

“Yes,” Bakerman nods solemnly. “Who is your brothers father?”

“I can’t even read the newspaper without getting upset,” my head is spinning now and I’ve lost track of the plot. Are we talking about my brother in the UK and the abuse he put up with from Graham? Or my brother here in Belgium? “My stepdad? Fwa-fwaaah.”

“Yes I know,” Bakerman nods mysteriously.

“Frank is his real name,” I go on. “He looks the spitting image of him.”

“Is he in touch with your brother?” Bakerman asks inquisitively.

“Yes but not often now,” I tell him only what I have heard. “He’s drinking again. And very involved with his new Philippino wife and her lot. He never bothers with me and my kids. Sometimes my brothers but not often.”

“Sounds good,” Bakerman smiles.

“Does it?” I pull up my eyebrow at him.

“You don’t need the added aggravation,” Bakerman points out.

“I don’t,” I sigh.

“Your brother just needs to meet a bitch like his mother and he will be off,” Bakerman lets me know it will all be okay.

“Hasn’t happened yet,” I point out the obvious flaw in his statement. “Don’t think he ever will.”

“There must be loads of them in Belgium,” Bakerman has told me before that there are a million more fish in the sea.

“Mother won’t allow it,” I snort. “There are. But what, come home, be quiet for mom?”

“I understand my elder sister is also crazy,” Bakerman reveals part of his story. “She has a boyfriend who is 30 years her junior. He is a paid companion. A gigolo I guess. Fat and useless. Worked six months in his life so far. Yet she hangs onto him as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Maybe women go crazy when they hit menopause or 60. Maybe they think it will dry up. Even a dog that likes to lick is an option.”

“But he’s her son!” I am starting to feel defensive now. I hate horrible talk and even though I don’t like the lot of them, I won’t stand for nasty talk. “I don’t understand this. I want my children to live full lives. Adventures of their own. Not extensions of myself. Ugh my mom has cats. This is all very dirty, very scary and not healthy.”

“Ah but your autism is different from hers,” Bakerman continues in the same monotone voice. “She see things as possessions. If she can’t own you then you are the problem.”

“I am the problem,” I repeat for myself. “Oh dear, that’s psychopathic.”

“If you blog this please make up names and cities that protect your family,” Bakerman looks at me alarmed.

“Haha,” I laugh as I can’t for the life of me imagine to ever repeat what I have just heard. “Yes true. Like which names? Tweedledum is pretty good.”

“Sure it’s always the same pattern,” Bakerman nods. “Your mother needs to own everyone she is close to. The concept if love is very distant to her. Sex equals love.”

“And the Old-Woman-in-a-Shoe,” I burst out in hysterics now. This conversation has clearly gotten under my skin.

“Yes something like that,” Bakerman is eyeing me with growing concern.

“Ugh disgusting,” I curl my nose. “Now I know where my weird behaviour comes from.”

“Yes,” Bakerman confirms.

“Or how I thought I had to do,” I go on seeing the light. “And it never felt right. So she is doing it with him. Yuk disgusting.”

“My next point. You can change it,” Bakerman always offers options.

“That will never stop,” I give up before I have even started. “I can? That’s the death card. How?”

“Yes you can change your behaviour only,” Bakerman explains the rules to me.

“Ah but I’m fine,” I say firmly. “How do I save my mother and my brother?”

“Fiona you must not put your filters in when reading tarot,” Bakerman scolds me. “You don’t know what’s in her future. You can’t.”

“What do you mean?” I ask him desperately.

“You can’t save them only they can,” Bakerman looks at me with sorry eyes. “You can help them achieve the desire to change.”

“So my blog will expose them and force them to change?” I ponder as anxiety creeps further up my spine.

“No it will just bring a new law suite,” Bakerman sighs looking into his empty tea mug.

“Public shaming does work,” I speak up. “Will it? Even if I talk about Tweedledum?”

“You need proof,” Bakerman puts his cup down and moves over in a conspiratorial fashion. “Have a few mini bugs placed in their house and record them for a month. Then you will have evidence.”

“Okay sounds fun,” I wink at him. “I’ll get their place bugged next time I’m in there. Or get the kids to do it. Or I know people who know people.”

“I am going shopping now,” Bakerman gets up slowly. “You could just ask her to clarify the rumour which she will deny but might think about.”

“Ok will do,” I say reluctantly as I can’t see myself ever having this conversation ever again.

“Ok have fun,” Bakerman waves after me as I make my way out of his atelier, back into the fresh spring air outside. I will always marvel at Bakerman’s ability to match his coaching strategies to each client for maximum success. His fever seems to have left together with the negativity he just spun out. I could almost visually see him releasing it all as he exhaled. I inhale the fresh spring air and take in the fresh energy of the sun, allowing it to light the way to a brand-new era.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.


Epilogue #WizardOfOz

In my effort to explain the nature and workings of the world I live in, I found myself explaining cases of past memories from my childhood, as a young adult and from the life I live today with my three gorgeous children. Having no other way to explain these acquired memories, I also give credit to the feedback received from various participants in my stories.

  • Prince Charming came to see me and told me yes, he is my ex-husband but he disputes being my gay ex-husband. When pushed further on this distinctive issue he confirmed that yes, he had dabbled a bit in playing with other men, but that at the most would only make him bi, not gay. I mean seriously.
  • Wim admits to being addicted to morfine and loves the feeling of floating around on his pink fluffy cloud.
  • Charlie, my cat, is worried about getting fired and has solicited a new position both with the Star and with the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe.
  • The Star still has her little bun in the oven at the time of this writing.
  • The Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe paid me a visit and offered yet a third version of how she got her hernia. She now reckons it came on after biking during her vacation in Asia with Tweedledum. I don’t know what to believe now. Her changing versions twice makes the Dormouse’s gossip all the more believable.
  • The Queen of Hearts keeps herself to herself nowadays baking tarts for the black birds.
  • The White Queen has unfriended me on Facebook.
  • Prince Charming has since been spotted at several occasions snooping around my house looking to talk to my spirit guide.
  • The Wizard of Oz has retired on the white sands of Cuba and has last been seen baking his daily bread.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

The shadow of surrender #politicallycorrect

The next evening my mood has plummeted to deep depths once more. Yet I would like to point out that when you are truly happy, even bad experiences don’t disturb your abundance wave. The Wizard is lying at the foot of my bed on his pink cloud. I believe he is listening to me, but doesn’t stir at all. Then I notice a little Dormouse slip from under the sleeping Wizard’s hat.

“Poop, the Old-Woman-who-swallowed-a-Fly is now pestering me about money I still owe her,” I tell my tiny new friend.

“Do you mean the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe?” the Dormouse wants to know.

“Oh do you know her?” I blink with surprise.

“I know a lot of everybody,” the Dormouse winks at me. “Besides, the whole village talks and gossips about that Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe.”

“Oh really?” I inquire surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“You heard about her hernia, didn’t you?” the Dormouse throws me a mischievous grin. “Do you know how she did that?”

“Yes, I do actually,” I say apprehensively. “She lifted up a heavy suitcase because Tweedledum was too lazy to do it.”

“Noooo,” the Dormouse chimes in delight. “That’s not what happened. The story goes that the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe is quite the promiscuous kind. Apparently she spread her legs one time too many.”

“Noooo,” I exclaim in disbelief, and I quickly change the subject. “What should I do or reply? Maybe I should just pay it back in one lump sum, then she will stop pestering me about it. It will set me back but has to be done I guess. After that she will just pester me about other things. Will never stop till the old hag drops dead.”

“Well she swallowed a fly…” the Dormouse trails off.

“Why do people call her the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe? Why not the wicked witch? The old hag? The sea serpent with dried-up tea bags instead of voluptuous boobs?”

“Oh no, a sea serpent is too much of a majestic creature,” the Dormouse shakes her head. “And she’s not much of a lady to qualify as witch. That’s why people call her just what she is: the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe.”

At that the Dormouse gets up and starts recounting the well known nursery rhyme:

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had three children, she didn’t know what to do;
She gave them some broth without any bread;
Then whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.

I applauded the Dormouse which promptly encouraged her to continue her poetry:

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children, her fanny fell off.

I laughed at this verse too, then gave the Dormouse a reproachful look: “I have three children too, you know.”

“Ah but for you it is different,” the Dormouse continued as she cleared her voice again:

There was a sweet lady who lived by the zoo,
She had three children children and loved them all too;
She gave them some broth with plenty of bread,
She kissed them all gladly and put them to bed.

“Hmm, in a world where you can be anything you should always be nice,” I tell the Dormouse off with a twinkle in my eye. “She threatens to charge interest if I don’t pay. Can she decide that unilaterally?”

“No but she thinks she is very important,” the Dormouse chuckles.

“What would she charge?” I rant on. “Does she even know what Euribor is?”

“I doubt it,” the Dormouse is rolling around on the bed clearly in amused hysterics.

“Stupid all-important dried-up prune,” I spit out. “Ugh wish she didn’t get at me with every bloody stuck-up piece of shitty communication. Wish I could remain ice cold and witty just like you. Tell you what. I’ll just pay it and confirm it by mail. End of story.”

“They should rename her to the Little-Old-Woman-who-smelled-like-Horse-Poo,” the Dormouse continues with high shrieks.

Our banter must have awoken the Wizard, because he opens one eye and yawns: “Yes pay her off. Do so with disdain.”

Which I promptly will do, dear readers.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

Connecting to life #surrender

Determined to continue on my path of self improvement, I sometimes whisper a soft word to the Wizard cat, who like all angry cats is still blatantly ignoring me. My efforts to talk to him have been undermined by my health issues. Dealing with flu for an entire week completely wipes out my energy levels. Talking in such situations can be strenuous.

“Good morning Doc Oz and buenos dias to you,” I smile at the Wizard fondly. “How are you? I’ve been down all week with flu. Got one new client in Google Analytics and Adwords coaching, following a hot lead with a web agency, totally failing with the Star’s new client. I know nothing about email marketing and she doesn’t want to help not even on invoice. Haven’t heard from the Shepherd, London lady, the au-pair agency or you. Maybe everyone has the flu. People are also liking our conversations a lot on my blog. That’s a bit scary.”

I have decided to surrender to the whims of the Wizard. Why surrender? Surrendering best defines what I feel is necessary for a great experience during life. A complete surrender, a way of letting go, abandoning myself to a master, my guide through life.

Stop resisting an enemy or opponent. Instead submit to their authority. In this case, a thought system and the words of a mind artist who travels around the globe to bake our daily bread.

Choose your best synonym : capitulate, give in, give myself up, yield, concede, submit, climb down, give way, defer, acquiesce, back down, cave in, relent, succumb, quit, crumble, but most of all, let myself go, live or …

The Wizard is the driving force behind my new business plan the “Center for Inspiration” and my famous tarot evenings. The Wizard of Oz is a very versatile man and a free spirit.

Surrender. Live your life with love and passion.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

Face to face #aupair #interview

A few good days have passed without a significant panic attack. I am starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Help is on the way. The future looks bright again. I can dream and plan. Having fun again and looking forward to new adventures. My loyal Wizard of Oz pops in regularly to greet me.

“Good morning. Buenos dias,” I smile at him sitting in the passenger’s seat of my chocolate brown Mercedes C-class. I have dropped my little darlings off for school and am on my way commuting to Brussels. The Wizard has made himself comfortable on his pink fluffy cloud in the seat next to me. His eyes seem to light up in the dark. Very intriguing. “I spoke to 2 au-pair candidates from South Africa yesterday. Both very sweet girls. I would really like to go ahead with an au-pair. The second girl seemed slightly more experienced. Has already looked after kids and has driving license since 2 years. The first girl was more sweet but is trying to get her license this month. Neither of them can ride a bike.”

“No too dangerous to ride a bike,” the Wizard nods at me. He is a man who has seen the world. He understands what makes a person’s heart beat, and how to motivate any living soul on this planet.

“I understood that,” I tell him thoughtfully. “Funny how we take our freedom and safety for granted. They can’t roller-skate either. But really sweet girls. Are they ready to take on my bunch though? And be independent? They seem to have grown up so protected. Would it be OK to take a decision on this? I would go for the second girl.”

“Yes you ask the agent for a guarantee,” the Wizard tells me with the same confidence as if he does this every year. “The second one has no driving experience. Is that safe? You will need to teach her and keep her distances short and in the village.”

“The first one doesn’t have her license yet but going for her test this month,” I point out again that the second candidate ranked slightly higher in terms of skills and experience. “I also prefer the second one with driving experience.”

“No driving to big cities until she has some experience on the highway,” the Wizard warns me. “Plus don’t forget to explain the rule of ‘the right has right of way’.”

“I will,” I tell him thinking how hard it will be to explain all the silly rules which apply only in this little frog kingdom of Belgium. “How exciting!”

“Ah ok,” the Wizard sounds content. “That’s better.”

“They both are very family oriented,” I go on chattering gaily to him. “It seems they want to do everything with me and the kids. Or will that pass?”

“Yes and she can go on adventures with you too,” the Wizard smiles at me as if he already knows that good things are about to happen.

“Yes she did ask about my travel plans,” I muse as it triggered a sense of disappointment in me. Disappointment in myself. For the first time in a very long period I have no plans, no travel itinerary or bucket list. I have been waiting for Godot.

“No they are supposed to go to language school and go where you go,” the Wizard sounds amused. “Not to work of course but in weekend excursions and trips to Paris and Amsterdam and stuff. Day trips or holidays or weekend trips. For the rest they take care of the kids.”

“They haven’t seen much of the world,” I am still in deep thoughts wondering where I want to take my brood next. “Wonderful.”

“They have seen nothing,” the Wizard confirms once more. “This is for them an opportunity to see something. Maybe find a husband and stay. Are they white or black?”

“She was also asking about cleaning and washing,” I tell him with certain pride. What a nice girl to ask about additional chores! “I told her it would be nice if she helped with washing and ironing, but that I have a cleaner.” Then I throw a quick grin sideways: “Both white. Such sweet girls.”

“Oh cool. That’s good,” the Wizard blinks once. “Everything to do with kids she does including cooking, ironing, washing and bath. Maybe homework and definitely play time.”

“Yes,” I cheer with the happy prospect that somebody will come and help me do this wonderful adventure with my littles.

“Company for you too,” the Wizard whispers softly.

“I know,” I continue smiling all the way to Brussels. “I thought of that. No more being lonely. What should I work on? You know I am strange…” I trail off. “What should I pay attention to?”

“Like what?” the Wizard pretends he doesn’t understand what I mean.

“Like smile more, talk gently,” I am unfortunately still questioning and doubting myself. “Ah ok yes.”

“Discipline and safety for your kids,” the Wizard attempts to set me straight. I should focus on the au-pair performing well with the most valuable thing in my life: my children. “Teach her Google Analytics,” the Wizard offers up another great idea.

“Oh exciting,” I just can’t stop smiling. My good mood this morning is palpable. And such a refreshing change with the preceding days. “I will see about the Google stuff, but would be good.”

“Use her but make it fun for her and allow free time,” the Wizard is spelling it all out for me. Which is just as good. Never a great idea to make assumptions that the other knows.

“I am really happy about this,” I confirm. “Of course.”

“Yes,” the Wizard beams my good vibes right back at me. “Best thing for you.”

“What should I encourage her to do in her free time?” I want to know. I am hoping my au-pair will be happy and thrive in our little family.

“Find a hobby,” the Wizard suggests. “Go out. Introduce her to the White Rabbit. She has lots of single men friends.”

“I will introduce her to the White Rabbit,” I nod as I think this is a splendid idea. “She is lovely too.”

“They can take her out on weekends when you are with Wim,” the Wizard can see it all happening quite nicely.

“Oh yes,” I have been smiling for the past half hour now and must resemble some kind of idiot by now.

“Don’t tell the Queen of Hearts,” the Wizard suddenly pipes up in an urgent tone.

“Ah?” the sound comes straight from my gut. “I don’t talk to the Queen of Hearts anymore.”

“Good,” the Wizard sighs.

“But why not?” I enquire. It hadn’t crossed my mind to mention anything to the Queen of Hearts until the Wizard brought it up.

“Because she is in a dark place at the moment and will use you to feel important by making you scared,” the Wizard points out. “I have to run. See you later.”

“Oh no more of that,” I agree that the Wizard might be right on that count. The Queen of Hearts does have a tendency to run with my paranoia. “Thank you. Have a wonderful day.”

“You too,” he waves after me as he drifts slowly out of the car window.


* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.


Friendship issues

Later that morning as I am tidying up from breakfast, the Wizard drifts lazily into the kitchen, clearly looking to speak with me for a reason.

“Buenos dias and good morning,” I smile at him. “I am skyping with an au-pair from South Africa tonight. Exciting, isn’t it?”

I dazzle around the kitchen clearing away the dishes humming happily to myself. I suddenly stop and look at the Wizard blankly: “I realized this morning I am still sabotaging myself with my blog.”

Immediately I feel embarrassed, as I give myself away too much to the Wizard. Only it feels so comforting talking to him. So I throw a question his way too: “How is your ‘broodjeszaak’? Sold many sarnies yet?”

“Yes your blog needs fictional structure,” the Wizard blinks at me with bright turquoise eyes. “A South African au-pair could be interesting. I see your sissy fit has passed.”

“Haha,” I laugh remembering the so manieth panic attack with garbage waffling out of my mouth. Let me change the subject quickly: “What do you mean by fictional structure?”

“Broodjes are still under testing  regime,” the Wizard answers in guise of two can play that game. “Finding the right flour and products is a not difficult for me but I am getting there. Sales start in February. We hope to open a coffee and baguette place in February.”

“That sounds really nice,” I smile at him encouragingly. Wouldn’t it just be lovely if everything works out just great for everybody? With that comforting thought in mind, I put the kettle on for a nice cuppa.

“You need to change the conversations and omit stuff that is too envious,” the Wizard finally answers my question about my blog. “Too obvious, I mean.”

“You can display Debbie’s pottery there too and sell those as well,” I can already imagine a quaint little Cuban coffee and baguette shop where the Wizard of Oz and his Debbie sell their artisanal products with tender love and care. “Yes and stop stepping on the Star’s toes.”

“Something like that,” the Wizard evades an easy answer. It means I will have to try it out for myself.

“That’s a huge challenge,” I remind him thinking deeply about my blog and what I write about. Sometimes I have a difficult time remembering exactly what I wrote. And what I deliberately omitted. “Can you give an example how I could twist things?”

“Change names, place and edit conversation so it seems to be someone else,” the Wizard looks at me annoyed as if the answer is so blatantly clear. “Then you can say it’s based on so and so but not real. Different outcome.”

“Ok will see what I can do,” I muse as I sip my tea. A piece of dark chocolate would be just right at this moment.

Inspired by the launch of a new chapter in my life, I finally understand that BFFs beyond the age of 20 are co-dependent relationships. However, when I round up the adventures I share with the Wizard of Oz, I realize I have come to think of him as a dear and beloved friend. What makes our interaction special is that we talk to each other just-because. He inspires me to chase my dreams and make something special out of my life. After all, I only have one shot at it.


* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.


Getting rid of my chicken addiction

The next morning I awaken and find myself refreshed. My love chakra meditation from the previous evening had worked wonders. I felt magical and alive again. I felt love. You know, the kind of feeling that everybody loves me. The idea that all my ex-boyfriends are still madly in love with me. Love that feeling, tongue in cheek.

The Wizard makes his appearance, softly drifting and floating over my bed on his pink fluffy cloud.

“Good morning,” I smile at him from the comfort of my pillow. “Buenos dias. Sorry for the waffle yesterday. I put my feet on the ground and breathed in and out deeply. The Star doesn’t want to earn extra money on top of her allowance from the ‘ziekenkas’? Fine. Her loss. I am going to look into homeworking options, an official nanny for Wednesdays or an au-pair. Maybe I will grow my business this year, maybe I won’t. In the worst case I close my books and start again. This is the year I am going to stop being a chicken and not let people blackmail me or walk all over me.”

I look over at the Wizard expecting a reaction. And getting none to my satisfaction, I decide to tell him the best piece of news I have had in ages: “Wim asked me to marry him. Next year. And I am not going to sabotage it this time around.”

I smile widely and hop nonchalantly out of bed. “Have a wonderful day. How is your ‘broodjeszaak’ coming along?”

Now this bit of news got the Wizard going. Just like I had hoped it would. He follows me swiftly downstairs and into the bathroom where I am already brushing my teeth, pretending not to notice his burning curiosity.

“Wow,” the Wizard catches up with me a little out of breath. “Sounds like you might stop going down the easy road for a change and actually plan properly. Difficult.”

I am still busy brushing my teeth so I just smile at him. The Wizard’s eyes are popping: “Wow. Why next year? Why not now?”

“Because Wim hasn’t fully recovered yet,” I gurgle at him, rinsing my mouth. “He might still have chemotherapy coming up. Next year this will all be behind us and we can start looking forwards. He is also talking about traveling.”

Now it’s my turn to want answers from the Wizard: “So saying ‘no’ to the Star and other fuckwits is the easy road or the difficult road? I would like to take to easy road for once. Or the right road. The best choice.”

I am busy combing my hair now and the Wizard is just watching me lazily without any response to my pressing questions: “What about my blog? What is your brutally honest opinion? Keep or ditch?”

I look over at him. He is still twirling around and smiling at me happily. I start applying my make-up: “Regarding your database… I know of a company that does cold calling to generate leads and set up meetings. Expensive though. Investigate or..?”

When I next look over my shoulder, the Wizard has curled up and gone to sleep. Useless.


* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.