It’s a good feeling. Waking. Knowing that I have no
particular thing. That I have to do. A wonderful. Option. Doing nothing. If I
so choose. Of course, I’ll find something. Like what I’m doing now. Rambling. Musing. Doing whatever comes
naturally. But I’m not even obligated to do that. I can be unnatural, too. Invariably,
unnatural becomes natural. That’s a funny thing. About life. Ultimately I have
leeway. Freedom of choice. Or so I think today. But by tomorrow. I may change my
mind. And decide that I’m a robot. Being
programmed. By intelligent life. From another remote galaxy. That we’re all
robots. Put on Earth. To be observed. In a zoo, of sorts. To see. If we thrive.
Or destroy ourselves. I presume. That the verdict is still out. --Jim Broede
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