In the wake of a predicted ‘five day monster storm’, which proved to be no match even for the ‘cookie monster’ from the Muppet show, in other words: “it failed to eventuate”, I have lapsed into one of my frequently occurring contemplative moods. While my mind hovers through various planes of consciousness in search of truth, the haze clears, revealing vivid images on the horizon. I see reality TV is progressing well in reverse gear, turbo charged with decadence and its role model examples of bad behaviour.
A memory flash brings to light the many Americans I met on my travels who firmly believed, that the greatest desire of humanity was ‘to live in America’; makes me think: they couldn’t have envisaged the rise of Donald Trump!
Now my mind’s eye journeys back to a ‘Jehovah’s Witnesses’ magazine that was left in my letterbox many years ago. It depicted resurrected people contented and happily working on a farm. There was no sign of a tractor or any other work assisting machinery. Well, I grew up doing farming but the JWs obviously didn’t. Let me try and get this right: Do I have to be a good boy in this life, make all sorts of sacrifices and live under heavily dictated restrictions, only to be rewarded with fucking back breaking farming for eternity? Perhaps I should sin a bit more than usual to avoid such a miserable fate. Suddenly, some of my brain cells bring to my attention that laughter is still the best medicine.
Distracted by the reality of the presence, I read that Xi Jinping has promised that all the Chinese people will live in prosperity by 2050. What an interesting notion, seeing that the climate apocalypse is re-scheduled for the same year and so is a manned mission to Mars. Is ‘Ping Pong’ planning an Exodus? If he is, the ‘Red Planet’ Mars will have to be re-named the ‘Yellow Planet’. Oops, this remark may brand me a racist. Well, who cares! I am more concerned about the clearly marked ‘4 litre’ can of paint I bought, which actually contained only 3.5 litres, written inconspicuously in very fine print on the stick-on label. Without warning, one part of my brain drifts back to Mars and asks: “Why would anyone want to travel all that way?” Couldn’t we simply follow many of the earth’s leading figures who appear to be already living on some other planet.
Gradually the air pressure drops, arthritis kicks in affecting the old brain in a rather unpleasant manner. A body in pain won’t let the mind immerse in deep thought, so I stop writing, rise to the occasion and vigorously scrub the house floor seeking relief in distraction while I sing the ‘back pain blues’.
Thoughts keep rolling on and I see myself in the ‘not so distant’ future, shocked, running a ‘go fund me campaign’ for the sick old pensioner I now am, desiring some privileges and luxuries I cannot afford. The ‘day-dream nightmare’ vanishes when I realize that this is totally out of character. Though, if I had no conscience, I would start up my own ‘MBM Church’ (Mind, Body & Money in the preacher’s pockets). While my mind still dwells on retirement, I realize that I don’t have a bucket list. Having ‘been there-done that’ in many more ways than one, I feel no need to stress about ticking off items during the final era of my life. I will take one day at a time and go wherever life takes me, though there is one item I will have to complete: ‘To kick the bucket’, but I am compelled to outsource the ticking-off.