Don’t Call Me Baby


I don’t want to see the boy today, even though it is Friday. I had a stroke of inspiration last night, which I’m not sure I can hang onto today, even though I really should. There is a worthy cause for it, my family. I’m not sure how much I should say about it, what I need to say about it.

Or what I need to say at all.

Let’s get back to trivialities, get my fingers moving. I don’t want to see the boy, he is so selfish. I’m sick of being with someone who is selfish in bed. He is selfish generally, but as witnessed from my last relationship, I can overlook just about everything for good sex. And this, this isn’t it.

I’m thinking about my ex, the real one. There was no sex there, and eventually I walked away from that. However, I was supposed to be off in pursuit of something better, and instead, I got arguably worse. Yes, the boy tries, but he fundamentally fails. How much is it on me to train and teach a man older than me? They boy is older than my ex, albeit by a measure of months. When I was younger I didn’t mind training a man. By now, they really should know. Has no one ever tried, ever loved him enough to teach him?

I’m of two minds. One is, I’m about ready to scrap the whole man anyway, so I might as well tell him what’s going on in my brain and just see what happens. Pretty sure he’s going to flip out, because he literally can not even anything. The other mind is, man do I so not have any time for that.

I don’t know, I guess I’ll see what I do and see what happens. Mainly the only reason I’m trying to hang on to this one is that he’s in a position to buy a house with me… and maybe have a kid or something <=== there, I said it. I had it in my head, and now there it is on the screen. This probably isn’t the most important thing to talk about today, but this is where it went.

There’s a few things I have to check on, a few things I have to do. My motivation returns.

When I was with my ex, I had a clear vision of what the children would have looked like, even though I aborted every single one. I’m pretty sure we hated each other for it. I definitely hate him. One time, when we were out at a bar and he told the bartender about one of my abortions, I realized how much it affected him – knowing full well that he didn’t have a right to be affected by it at all. It wasn’t his body that had to be scraped out, he basically just took it as an excuse to have anal sex for a few weeks while I healed.

I aborted the children because he was not fit to be a father. In retrospect, I realize that all these children were *mine* more than his, all my life I have been afraid of having children because I didn’t want to be tied to an unworthy man. There are no worthy men. I was so afraid that my kids would see me and wonder what the fuck I did with my life to end up with these idiots, or worse yet that they would be idiots. I now know that this would be unlikely, as they would be my kids as well as the fools, but still the fear kept me up.

I wonder (but I don’t) how my Mother feels about me. I know there’s some feelings.

I am defensive and I don’t care. This post is more about confession that healing… or maybe there’s still time.

The boy is in no way a suitable father. His temper is wild and without reason, and his virtues are unpracticed and blunt (but present). I don’t think it would benefit a child to witness his behavior. It occurred to me, last month when I popped a morning after pill to make sure that I wasn’t going to have the child of an accomplished, well spoken and slightly more understanding man (although age = understanding, it doesn’t seem like there’s a choice. It’s like we’re all settling for less than we wanted, and wrapping that broken heart in the tissue paper of sympathy for those that fell short of our original expectations), that no matter who the father of any of my potential child was, I’d probably steal it and raise it by myself, so it didn’t have to witness the horrors of these other people.

This is why I don’t have a child at all. This world is terrible… this world doesn’t deserve any child that I would give it.

Unfortunately though, all the good people seem to feel this way. And enough about them.

I just don’t have the patience for dating again. It’s fine, all this doesn’t matter… but then again, what does? Absolutely nothing, it feels like. Not to me, nothing matters to me. Although there is a project that I have to do, for my family. One day maybe I’ll be able to talk about it, what happened.

Men are terrible things. I wish they would understand, that when one of them acts terribly, all women regard all men terribly. If they want to get laid, they should not only up their own game, they should also stop other men from raping other women for fucks sake. It ruins everything for everyone.

I’m rolling it back. I can’t stand men. Fuck this whole thing, let’s go extinct. I’d go first, but I know no one would follow and so this whole situation will just get worse without my help.

I don’t even want a kid, then I would have to care about what happens to everything after I die, or care about dying at all. I think of my last ex, with no kids, and no chance to have any. He made his girlfriend have “a couple of abortions” as he put it, and so his regret is hollow and unfounded and his own fault and he deserves every single sleepless night he gets as he watches his mortality approaching, and honestly I do too.

And I’m ok with that.

I’m not ok with that, but that doesn’t matter so I have to be ok with that. I can’t imagine anyone giving a fuck how I feel, whether or not I’m ok. I think of the boy and his tantrums and I’m just so sick of him. How could I ever consider having children with these fucking children. I can’t raise a baby while I have a giant baby screwing everything up.

I wonder how my Mother feels.

She’s at a funeral today.

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