i want a kid but i want to wait till i finish college and have a wife or husband cuz i wouldnt want to be a single parent
LOL, I like to think I'll know when I'm ready. Ooo I remember having a HUGE argument with someone who thought I was too immature for marriage because I said I was too immature for kids. It annoys me when people ask "so how many kids do you have" when I say I'm married and people think I'm crazy for marrying without any kids or any intention too. When I was younger I really wanted to be married at 18 and be a young mum but what I want out of life has changed since then.
I have no idea! I was just saying how I'm too selfish to be a mother right now and how I felt too immature for them, she was all like how can you be married and not have kids?? If you're too immature for kids then you're TOO immature for marriage and she advised me to start divorce proceedings coz our marriage is gonna fail.
The sign on the marquee on front of the church reads, ‘NO CHRIST? NO SALVATION!’ Today was one of those rare mornings where I’m already drunk by 10 AM. Actually, it’s more like, still drunk from the night before but I had a few swigs of sippin’ whiskey to clear my head. The basilica of St. Anthony’s cathedral awaits. Father Chuck sits inside his dark little box waiting for the congregation to confess their sins. The sun is shining and the grass is green. I nearly trip on the steps and catch myself on the railing before I go down. Oops. Old Mr. Patterson stands by the door to greet the masses. He grabs my arm and helps me in the door. I’m sure he smells the sippin’ whiskey and Jager on me. I head to the bathroom to clean up before mass. I miss the toilet, splashing piss on the guy’s shoes in the next stall. I’m sloppy. The thought of just leaving before mass started crossed my mind but I never do the smart thing. In fact I really have no idea why I was even at church to begin with. Oh yea, it’s Easter. Halfway back to the sink, I have to turn back and unload my guts into the toilet. I heave a few times until it’s all up and wipe off my mouth with some toilet paper and flush it down. I hold myself up against the walls and watch eggs and liquor spiral down and disappear. I stop in front of the mirror and stare down the messy looking bum on the other side. I tuck in my shirt. I wet down my hair and slick it back. I run my fingers across my teeth to get the gunk off. I still look like shit. My breath smells like a bar bathroom. I step back into the foyer and through the big glass doors that lead to the aisles. The church is full and some people stand in rows in the back, shortest to tallest, in order to enjoy the holy ceremonies at maximum capacity. I stumble on someone’s feet but I catch myself on the back row of pews as I make my way to my seat I make my way to the aisle on the back row and plop down next to an older couple. I wipe the smut from my eyes and try to act nonchalant. After a few minutes, the procession starts and Father Chuck and his parade of altar boys carrying bells and bibles come from behind in a slow procession. The organ starts up a little late and plays fast to make up for it. Father Chuck walks a little faster than usual to catch up with the music. :cheers2:
I agree with Luxie... you will never be ready... and I hate those who say they are saving to have a kid. If you are waiting for this and that, then you'll be disappointed that the perfect time never comes around. And no matter how prepared you think you are, you're entire life will be turned upside down.... I am just glad I got my selfish years out of the way...and that I actually had some. Now I don't resent anything... not even all the time that we spent in the hospital......not saying that if you have kids at a young age you are going to resent them.... I just didn't want to feel the pull between staying in on weekends with my kids, and wanting to go out and party with other people my age....
Thanks NP, I use only found materials, and this piece of wood was left over after a carnival came through town... It was a dart/balloon game backboard. don't know why, but I think that's fuckin' cool. Your writing is really good man, gritty. Like phillip dick, or early vonnegut. I'd like to read a full story...
I understand this, but I'm an extremely ambitious person. Right now my boyfriend are both involved in music, which means at some point in the future we will be touring, possibly for long stretches at a time. I don't want to have to put my kids through that. I'm planning to have kids when I can be there for them growing up. I just don't want a kid right now. I am absolutely not ready. But I will definitely know when I am Anyway tanna I got mad respect for you in particular and for all the moms on the forums. You guys are going to raise your kids right.
me too! That's sexy. and I like the found materials policy. I love painting on wood... It's my favorite medium.
ive always wanted to use wood. i can never find any. maybe im not a good scavenger. i've used butcher paper and brown paper grocery bags that i've found though. yea vonnegut is a hero of mine. so fucking raw without being pretentious about it. the excerpts i've posted are from a book im writing. ive only got about 15,000 words so far but it's mostly true (or inspired by true events) about an alcoholic whose life spirals out of control. ive got a friend in publishing and he thinks it's publishable. trying to get it to about 40,000 words and smoothe out some kinks. i try to use many different 'voices' and ways of writing for different stories. im trying to keep it dry because that's how i feel when im drunk. thanks for the words:cheers2:
here's a writing assignment I did for a comp class when I was 18. Something about writing about childhood from an adult perspective. I was doing a lot of mushrooms and reading a lot of Garcia Marquez back then. Black Magic I saw the bugs at night, lighting up the darkness, darting about, hurling their bright gifts toward the space behind my retinas. At times something would fly at me so rapidly that I’d have to duck under my blankets, but the bugs were there, too, and they were on the backs of my eyelids when I closed my eyes, and because I couldn’t escape them, we learned to be friends. My mother said the bugs were energy. She said she saw them as a child, too, and was glad I had reminded her of them. She couldn't see them anymore, but she promised me she'd try to. Ashley said the bugs were magic. She told me I was lucky to see them because most people couldn’t. My dad couldn’t, and neither could my brother or my neighbor Bonnie, who made the amazing mango pie. I didn’t know what to do with the magic other than enjoy it, so I would spend hours staring at the bugs, describing to Ashley all the starry things they sent flying toward us. Ashley had baskets of clothes to help us become the people our parents didn’t know about. We played with the friends we made, friends who lived among the candy flowers of my mother’s huge gardens, hiding in trees with the nymphs in our frantic attempts to escape the wily pranks of the elusive goblins. I remember distinctly one particular occasion where a certain imp that lived in a squat fig tree by the big screen porch jumped out at me so suddenly and abruptly that I tripped over a protruding root in my narrow escape. I could hear the creature laughing mockingly at me from behind the storage shed as I sat, humiliated, amid the folds of my newly torn blue dress-up gown, cursing the goblins as Ashley somberly bandaged my stubbed pinky toe. I was going through a massive trunk in my house one day when I found a beautiful wooden flute upon which was painted a strange, strange symbol. When I showed it to Ashley, she drew in her breath dramatically and declared that what I had found was a rain flute, and that the symbol, a leather boot on a fishing hook, was the indicator of black magic. I lay with Ashley for hours in my brightly colored hammock under the enormous pecan tree as she played on the sacred flute the most hauntingly beautiful song I had ever heard. As she played, the nymphs came out of the trees to dance with the elves, and the fish in the pond surfaced among the lilies and hummed along in five-part harmony while the cicadas chirped a steady rhythm. The clouds caressed my head as I drifted slowly to sleep. When I awoke, the song was over and my mom was calling me from the porch to dinner. That night, it took a long time for me to fall asleep because the bugs were speaking to the stars. I asked them for silence, but every time I begged for a little peace the bugs sent a million of those fish-hooked boots zooming in my direction. Ashley’s curious sonnet floated airily back into my mind, and I pondered it dreamily while the bugs chattered until my eyelids drooped and sparks of eerie dreams began to ignite. It rained furiously for three days straight, and, on the fourth day, Ashley came over with a basket full of clothes and trinkets and told me she was moving. We went outside and pranced in the puddles, laughing about the rain the rain flute caused, until my mom told me to come inside, and that was the last time I saw Ashley. Within a few weeks, a new family had moved into Ashley’s house across the street. I invited their daughter Sammy over to play, and I told her all about the bugs and the flute and the magic, but she didn’t believe me. I tried to show her the nymphs, but they wouldn’t come out when she was around. I even tried playing the flute, but I could only get two notes out of the damned thing. Then, Sammy showed me fun places to ride bikes and introduced me to boys, and we made a clubhouse out of the loft in my garage. And in time, I learned to ignore the bugs and forgot about the days when I used to sip tea in the garden with the elves.
I cleared the brush out of my way and stepped onto the hard rocky river bank. My foot met the cold stone as the river came into clear view. A cool mist of water met my face and refreshed my senses. As I made my way toward a large boulder to admire the view before filling my cantina, I noticed a small bird laying on the boulder where I had planned on sitting. His legs were extended and writhing in an obvious pain and his tiny wings were compact and held tight against his body. His small black eyes stared back at me in terror and his breathing was sharp and heavy. What happened to you? I asked out loud as I approached, almost pretending that the bird could understand. The poor creature had flown into this boulder. Or perhaps he had flown into a tree and this was where he landed? Whatever the case was, he was dying. I gently moved my fingers close to his scarlet breast to stroke him and let him know that I meant him no harm. His beady eyes glared at me as if to say "do...not...touch...me..." He snapped his beak and I withdrew my hand. The crimson tint of his plumage did not hide the blood that was cemented against his wings and face. Lines of cracked, dry blood covered the contours of his beak and caked against his eyes. I dared not pick up the creature for fear of damaging him even further. I sat for a moment, immersed in thought. What can I do? I looked again at the poor, miserable creature who sat before me. He was bent in cruel shapes of various degrees of agony. His head was bleeding, his wing was surely broken, and one leg was set askew from the other, probably broken as well. I speak of all this in the past tense because it is only now that I realize what happened to me that day. My heart and mind were transformed forever by this small being. I felt pity for the animal; at least at the time I thought it was pity. I have now come to realize that this was the day that I learned compassion. Nothing in my years of human experience could have prepared me for this moment. It was the realization of absolute compassion that many religious types had spoken of but to which I had never given more than a moment's thought. At that moment I loved this bird and I realized his importance to me. In this forest, he was my equal. I was no better than him and he no better than me. Compassion. I snapped back into the moment. Realizing that there was no hope for this animal's survival, I wondered: Had the tables been turned and I were the one who was hurt, would he be the one who was peering down at me? Would the bird feel compassion for me? Would he stop to ponder the situation the way I had? I felt a sort of love for this bird. It was a sensation that was absolutely new to my mind, but my heart knew it well already. The bird. The trees surrounding us. The grass and the rock, the river, the dirt, and everything. It was made from this feeling. I now knew this. I sat in contemplation for a moment or more, almost feeling the bird's pain. After looking at him for several minutes, I decided that I should have a closer look. I bent lower to carefully scoop up the bird and examine him closer. Perhaps I could nurse him back to health. Maybe I could give him a glimmer of hope. But the strangest thing happened as my body met his. My I could feel my soul sucked out through my tender pink fingertips. For a moment my mind met his and we became one. I learned the depth of his soul if only for a second. I blinked my eyes and consciousness left me. *** After an eternity, I opened my eyes. My very being had been changed. The demeanor of my mind was not my own. I felt very simple. I tried to call out in my own language but all that escaped my hard yellow beak was a chirp. A high-pitched whistle. Had it always been this way? I righted myself from my prone position on the cold rock. I tried to shake the confusion from my mind but it was no use. Have I always been this way? Observing my surroundings, I recognized a shape, or rather a series of shapes around me. As the world slowly focused into view, I first saw the large pink animal that hovered above me. At first I was frightened, but there was something about this creature that calmed me. I was compelled to fly away and escape danger, but something inside of me would not allow it. The shapes that covered this creature's face seemed very familiar to me. It called out to me. Awe filled my simple mind and we locked eyes. Blank, indifferent orbs, glassy, black and empty stared back at me and the creature stood absolutely still, eyes facing forward and mouth agape. Not a motion except for a slight hint of breathing. What did this strange beast want from me? Never before had any other being meant so much to me, and never before did I wish to escape it's sight so desperately. My mind struggled to find the answers, but it was no use. My mind was like a fog where I could judge no further than I could touch. My mind reached out to grasp at anything, any hint of where I was or what I was doing here, but it was no use. We stared into each other's eyes for a time. How long I could not say. I seemed to be incapable of judging time and the world was still. The pink creature made not a single movement or even blink. A soul is a very simple thing, yet this creature had none. Nothing beyond the endless glare of eyes that imitate an animate state. A pale and pitiful creature it was. Compassion left me and pity crept slowly in again. I examined the creature for a moment more. What did he want from me? Surely this creature had not been here before I had come. Where had I come from? I thought to myself. I could not remember where I had come from or what I was doing. Or why I was here on this rock. My lucidity was starting to fade; I could not remember anymore where I was or why. I struggled for a moment, catching only glimpses of my former being. In moments, instinct replaced intellect and logic and reason were forgotten in favor of flight and song. The last few wheels that were still turning in my mind eventually wound down and stopped entirely. I had become a new being. Reborn. Where I had come from and what I had been before was now forgotten. My new mind was unspoiled, untarnished, and unaccustomed. I became the bird. The bird was me. Nothing more or less. Just a bird. A bird without purpose, goals, or ambitions. Just a bird. Equal to all other birds and creatures of this forest. I was equal to all except for the strange creature that stared back at me. He was now my inferior; and as I judged him, a creature without a soul. Suddenly, and for no reason at all, I reached my wings out into the open air and took flight. As I rose into the safe canopy of the trees, I felt a relief of a magnitude which I had never felt. I was now safe. I was free. The creature below me did not move, nor did it look to follow the arc of my ascent. Hunched and squatting, it continued to sit in complete stillness, devoid of motion. It reminded me of a tree or a rock. An inanimate object incapable of thought or feeling. A potential place to perch. Nothing more. My wings carried me away on the winds. My perception forgot all boundaries and I recognized neither time nor reason. I had learned life. I had learned compassion. The pink creature remained but soon I forgot about him also. Time wasted away in my mind, for I had no use of it. Day passed into night and night into day. Seasons came and seasons went. I escaped the cold every winter and returned again to enjoy the warmth and bounty of each new spring. I was a king in my forest. But I was just another bird. It was here in this forest that I spent my remaining days. I never saw the pink creature again, nor did I ever look for him. And I was happy. For the first time, I was happy.
