A word. As far as I am concerned, throughout my whole life I have given you respect. that respect is not personally delivered, in that I cannot walk up to your door and hand it over like a present, but I have offered it, nonetheless. As ever, there is no response from you but still I give it. Now why do you think that is, hmmm? My favourite answer is that, although I cannot see you, I have a sneaky feeling you are there and not as a neighbour but as a man in control. Apparently you are everywhere and that is just a tad weird, not to say spooky. No other person I know is everywhere.
But I have issues. In my learnings about you, I have picked up that you only ever want us to be happy, providing we keep off any worldly addictions. Well, there’s an issue for starters. If we weren’t supposed to enjoy tobacco, why did you plant it? if we aren’t allowed any red wine, who stuck all those healthy grapes in the ground, and who worked out how to ferment and trample them barefoot in order to produce liquor? Don’t tell me that wasn’t anything to do with you because I don’t believe it for one minute. I hear that you are the voice within so I tolerate no flapaway excuses from you. And, besides, you are everywhere, remember?
Then there’s the issue of money. How come it is in the hands of the rich and not the poor? I am neither, but I still can wet my metaphorical pants as I watch the month slow to a crawl whilst the bills seem to turn into hares all cantering to the finish. If I am supposed to be happy, why can’t I buy 4 jumpers from H&M just because I am sick to death of the same old same old, all peppered with pills and yawling around me like an overworked sail? You, of course, are not even remotely bothered with the jumper problem. I doubt you wear anything at all being, as you are, an everywhere spirit. Clothes, as you have already set in print, scribed long time ago, are irrelevant, but if you can just imagine we minions stepping out in our birthday suits to do our Tesco shop, just one streetful of us, you might consider doing some serious editing of that particular line. It was okay for you in your flowing robe of linen to float about (above water, if you don’t mind) in temperatures that soared way over the 17 degrees we enjoy here, in a warm summer month. We need clothes and happy clothes, to boot. Clothes nowadays are made with short term in mind. Only the very rich can choose what they want when they want.
There’s another thing. You, apparently, inspired medical science to go bonkers. There is even talk of a replacement head, and I am not saying that’s a bad thing when you consider a person who really needs one. but, honestly, this whole deal of keeping us all alive until we are almost petrified mummies is not a good idea at all. Just think of the ones who are sort of okay with their heads and have to care for a person who….(or is it whom?) has basically gone anyway, someone who is not who they were and never will be again. Do you? Think of them, I mean?
I get, now, that life is a fight. I get that we minions learn loads when the chips are down. But the balance is all wrong. I remember, often, being sent back to re-do my homework, to think things through and to make changes. Although I can’t see you to say this in person, I am writing it in the hope that you might take a dose of your own medicine and do what you want the rest of us to do. All 65 million of us. As far as we know.
I’ll be back tomorrow with some more. Till then, sleep tight.