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If You Can't Trust Your Penis, Who Can You Trust? by Ray Printer Friendly

I've been trying for the last twenty minutes to figure out something to write that would be entertaining, something that might end up as a story, something to keep you coming back for more. But I'm tapped, at the moment. It's late, and I'll have to go to bed soon, and everything I try to write turns into something too big to finish in one night.

All of that is just a long way of saying you're stuck with me rambling tonight, about whatever.

Hey why not talk about having children? Everyone and their fucking grandmother has been pressuring me to reproduce lately, so it's been on my mind a bit. They've been pressuring me for years now, and it's nothing I can't laugh off, most of the time. But my princess has been talking about her biological clock a lot, as of late. About how it's making noise, about how...well, all that shit women say when they're telling you that you having kids is about to be more than a passing threat.

I never really wanted kids. I went through a brief period where I thought it might be fun, but that passed. I'm old enough now to know that I could do it, if I absolutely had to, but I also know myself well enough to know that I'll probably fuck the little creature up, no matter how careful I am.

And here's why: I'm damned selfish. Right now, my princess is in bed, and I know that she wishes I was there with her. Instead, I'm out here in the dark, listening to Eminem yell about lifting the whole liquor counter up because he's raising the bar. He's very clever.

It's a small thing, the fact that I don't go to bed when I'm supposed to, but it's a symptom of a big thing.

I'm not finished being selfish. I'm not ready to sacrifice who I am to become who I could be.

There's a bottle of tequila sitting less than two feet from me. If I wanted, I could reach out, unscrew the top, and drink the entire bottle. I'd probably spend the remainder of the night puking, I'd feel like shit tomorrow, and I'd regret it. But I could do it, because I don't have to worry about a kid waking up in the middle of the night needing to go to the hospital. I don't have a helpless human being depending on me.

And you know what? That's only part of it. A small part, I think, the more I think about it.

I am a writer. Not as a profession, obviously, but as a person. I write because I have to, because it's a part of me. And I'm afraid that having a kid will take that away.

I don't write in the morning. I don't write at six in the evening when I get home from work. I don't write from noon to one, during my lunch break.

I write when the sun has comfortably vanished. I write when normal people have gone to sleep. I write after I've finished up being a contributing member of society for the day.

I think a child would steal this time from me, and I'm pretty sure I'd hate it for that.

This is my time to unwind and be who I really am, when nobody's around to judge my thoughts or actions. It is my time alone. Just me and the dark and the words.

I've tried to explain this to the people urging me to reproduce, I've tried to convey the importance of this time alone. "Ha ha ha," they say, like I'm joking, "You can forget all about that. Your alone time is now baby time."

And you know what? Fuck baby time. I've spent a lifetime trying to find a balance, trying to keep the bullshit in my head from boiling over to where it bugs my loved ones. I have a life that works. It's not the greatest life, but it's what I've made, it's what I've got.

Now I have to give all of that up because others want me to reproduce? For fuck's sake, man, I shouldn't be having kids in the first place. Why am I the only one who sees this?

"You'd make a great dad," they say, because they've never believed me when I try to confess what a fraud I am.

Am I getting too personal here? I bet I am. We should talk about my dick or something, that always keeps things from getting too personal.

Speaking of dicks, do you guys remember this, from my first semester of Photoshop?

Cocksaber


Junk Wars


Ah, those were the good old days, when people realized there was absolutely no reason at all in the world for me to have kids, ever.


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