"I don’t need you anymore," I informed my computer. "I have accumulated enough knowledge. I don’t need a search engine. Scanning is for imbeciles. I’m never going online again, so you can just lay there and corrode."
"Don’t need you either," I told my calculator. Don’t need to punch numbers to reach the truth. I remember how to add, divide, subtract and multiply. I can do long division. I can divide fractions and multiply decimals right there on the paper.
"I don’t need you at all," I said to the pile of mail on my kitchen table. Whatever you are offering me I either have or don’t want. If you’re an acquaintance I don’t need to hear your news, share in your little triumphs and setbacks. You people are Velcro. You stick to me, impede my choices.
"Boy, I surely don’t need you," I remarked to my TV and radio, my VCR and state-of-the-art sound system. I can look outside if I wish to know the weather. Traffic is always heavy. The news is always bad. Where is the suspense? And I can sing well enough, do a variety of impressions; in general, entertain myself just fine without wasting the electricity needed to employ your function.
I have absolutely no use for you as well, I told my books and magazines. Nothing new is being written; Becket covered just about everything relevant to modern existence and that was 50 years ago. So how are you increasing my intelligence?
"And what in heaven’s name can I possibly gain from having you around?" I asked my dog. "What needs of mine do you fill?"
Convince me, I implored my wife and children, that you are adding substance to my life. As much as I loved you all, I’ve grown and you haven’t. The wisdom gap is insurmountable. Away, please, away, all of you, away.
And naturally, I don’t need you anymore, government. I make my own rules; organize my days which benefit me without hurting anyone. I’ve incorporated all the laws and statutes I can fit into my agenda and those are becoming less palpable every moment as I move to a higher plane of civility.
Turn around and retreat back to you sanctuary, father. I don’t need spiritual leaders or gurus or health fanatics or dieting experts or any other self-help buoys. God has given me such peace of mind, such confidence, such analytical resourcefulness, I have proven to myself he no longer exists in any useful form.
All I need is a bit of sustenance which I can grow myself, water from a well I can build myself, a hole in the ground to relieve myself which I can dig, and a roll of toilet paper purchased with a coupon because I refuse to defame on a single leaf.
With all of these items jettisoned from my life, I have so much more time to lay back, relax and wait for one single idea, just one idea worthy of my intellect.
Still waiting. – Joe Del Priore (The author is a frequent Current contributor.)