Prodigal

Quarter after nine.

Some people have all the bad luck, and then it’s so hard to know what to tell them. Christmas is ten days away, yet I see crap happening to my friend. Is it because she doesn’t use good judgment or something? Her life is a kind of trap with her husband and son who saddle her with all the responsibility for their survival. There’s nothing I can do to help her…

Ten fifty. My sister just called and we talked a long time. Now I only want to think ahead to tonight’s church activities. Maybe do a little speculation in the meantime. It’s been a while since I enjoyed listening to classical music from the turn of the twentieth century. More than a luxury, it ought to be a staple of civilized living. I’d really love to hear Night on Bald Mountain again, or The Golden Cockerel, and let the harmonies hit me in a good spot. I don’t get enough pleasure out of life each day, whether people call this selfish or something else. Most people’s lives are full of compromise and not very much fun, which to my mind is a shame. I could be wrongheaded, just a prodigal person, but I think that life without fun is a mistake. Perhaps I’ve listened to other people too much and not to my own heart, that says follow your bliss. My conscience accuses me of selfishness, but originally that voice came from a real person, probably my sister or the pastor of the church. I’ve heard plenty of sermons in my life, and frankly I’m fed up with them. Another possibility is the influence on me of the agency. It all gets to be too much when I only want to be free. 

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