As a result of my encounter yesterday with a prophet at the library, I thought about what my life would be like as a piece of garbage.
First of all, I would get a job in waste management. This would give me a disposable income. Part of my job, in waste management, would be determining politicians’ salaries.
I would use my disposable income to buy a dump, and then renovate it. It would still be a dump after my renovations, but it would be a nice-looking dump.
The first thing I would buy for my nice-looking dump would be a large TV. I love watching rubbish!
I would no longer be irritated by junk mail. It’s natural for junk mail to arrive at a dump.
Of course being a piece of garbage means people will talk trash about me. As I wrote yesterday, I don’t care what people say as long as they don’t hit me.
At the end of my life, as a piece of garbage, I would hope that The Great Garbage Collector would recycle me into something useful for prophets who shout things at people.
I have no credibility with my family. Is it because I live in my right brain? Who knows? I will say things that my family will dismiss, often with ridicule, but later accept what I said as long as my words come from someone else.
Many years ago my sister had problems after drinking milk. I suggested soy milk and that it was good for her.
“Soy milk? Yuck! Don’t be stupid!”
She said this without trying soy milk.
A little while later my sister’s doctor recommended that she drink soy milk. She did and felt better.
“Soy milk is good for you,” she said to me.
“I told you that before,” I said.
“I’m just telling you what my doctor told me,” said my sister. “I feel better drinking it.”
My brother and sisters wanted to sell our parents’ house as is. I suggested that a paint job and minor plumbing repairs would get us a better price.
“No,” they said. “We’re not going to put any money into the house. Whoever buys it can fix it up.”
I secretly spoke to the real estate agent and explained that they would listen if she made the suggestions. She did.
“The real estate agent said that we could get a better price if we painted and fixed the leaking taps,” they told me.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“Yeah well we’re just telling you what the real estate agent told us,” they said.
About a year ago I suggested to my brother that he use text messaging and get e-mails sent to his cell phone. He is a musician and relies on e-mail for gigs.
“No, no, no, ” he said. “I don’t need e-mails and that crap on my cell phone. I can see e-mails when I check my computer. My cell phone is for emergencies only. I don’t need to get the Internet.
Recently someone told my brother to get a Smart Phone. Now he receives e-mails and text messages and the Internet. I see it as a sign of my spiritual advancement that I say nothing every time he talks at me, and goes on and on and on about the wonders of his Smart Phone.
“And I don’t have to wait to check my computer at home to see my e-mails,” he says. “I can answer e-mails about gigs much quicker blah, blah, blah . . .”