Pardoned

Outside my window, the City of Eugene street sweeper just howled past. It might be okay to get something sweet from the store— and I’m aware that I don’t feel very free lately. I feel encircled by government agencies moving in for the hostile takeover of my life. Is this paranoia on my part, or does the suspicion serve a purpose?

Ten o’clock.

I had a nap from four thirty to eight thirty, and when I got up, my mind was somewhat clearer. Aesop, my dog, is in a good mood tonight. It occurs to me now what dictators my parents were when I was young; I could never do anything or go anywhere without rousing their suspicion that I might blow their cover. My dad was especially paranoid if I did anything different from usual. What kind of judgment did he fear? He and Mom were moderate alcoholics, but this didn’t warrant the world’s disapproval. His life was secure when he could watch tv, smoke cigarettes, and drink bourbon during the happy hour every day. My parents were godless people with no real friends of their own. Mostly they were terrified of being condemned, but it’s hard to know what for. What was their unpardonable sin?

I, for one, absolve them everything

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