Posts Tagged ‘growing up’

No, of course I don’t. I hate them from the bottom of my foot.

November 20, 2010 Leave a comment

I have always disliked children. Perhaps not always, but as far back as I can remember being someone who makes my own mind up, I have not really liked them. I have a strange love for my niece and nephew, one that closely resembles concern, but there is only so much I can take of those two. I vaguely remember that being around my older cousin’s just felt more better than the ones my age. I’d much rather have a cat.

As I approach 26, and all my friends are popping off into the marriage zone one by one, like little lemmings who are throwing away their money, and eventually creating little people, I get asked about myself. It really isn’t socially acceptable for a girl (I can never refer to myself as woman) to not want children. We are meant to have accelerating biological clocks, that start beeping louder and louder like the alarm on my blackberry.

People ask me why I don’t like children, and I have my responses, prepared like an acceptance speech at an awards ceremony. They are annoying, I don’t want to clean their poop, they talk too much, they ask too many questions, I can’t be selfish around them, or tell them what I really think, for fear of permanently scarring them and leading to a life of psychopathy. These are my canned and bottled answers, and I always find them satisfactory. They don’t, their response response is always the same, when you have your own, these things won’t bother you. I agree to disagree because I really don’t care. (I use the ominous “them” so much here.)

I got asked the other day, do you relate to children. This threw me off. No of course I don’t, I hate them from the very bottom of my foot. But I do, i love all their toys, I want to play with them, and I just want to build sandcastles and go to school and learn and run around at recess. The idea of recess is amazing. I imagined my self on the jungle gym, and then conversely sneering at babies, because I didn’t want to hold them.

And this was a revelation. I hate children, because I am jealous. The same way we all hate the prettiest girl in the room. The same way we hate that giant monstrosity of a billion dollar single family home. I find ugliness in all these things, because on some level. No not some level, on many levels I want them all.

I want to be that baby, who is happy to be paling with a marigold flower, wildly amused by my friends beard (that always gets food in it!). I want to play with toys, I want to run around at recess and giggle in class, when someone tells me that the uterus very closely resembles a cows head.

Plus children are selfish selfish creatures, and I am a selfish selfish creature. If you have something that some little human creature wants you have to give it to them, and they ruin everything. I can’t imagine playing lego with a baby, I’d just steal them all and make something awesome, instead of of some lopsided idea of a house or some other idiot thing it would come up with. I don’t think I’d be able to let a child win at video games, or touch my RC heli, or intricate mechanical toys. They want everything, and I don’t want them to have it.

This isn’t a nicely packaged response in a box with a bow that I can present to the world. I will be told I will live vicariously through the child. But, that isn’t really true. I don’t like them, because I can’t be one of them. It’s the simplest most basic logic. Occam’s Razor wins again.


I can’t get no…

August 21, 2010 Leave a comment

A dissatisfaction comes over me at night. I work 9:30 am to 7:00 pm, at a great job. I’m in a great position, with challenging tasks, and constantly learning and expanding. I spend the nights and evenings with my friends . I have fun and laugh and watch things, and we discuss. It’s not so much a dissatisfaction, as much as it is an uneasiness. It compels me, it drives me to stay awake till odd hours of the night. So late, that At some level, I know. I know I won’t wake up to get to work on time. That I will run in to the office,the official morning meeting apologising for what I knew so many hours prior would happen.

It’s a disease. I’m plagued by this constant need to stay awake and do. To read stories of other peoples lives, to live vicariously. To understand the deepest meaning of a word via and wikipedia. To read every comment on a socially bookmarked link.

It makes no sense. I if step outside of myself, my life is incredibly fulfilling. I have a great job. I’m living up to one of the dreams I decided to have for myself. I have an enviable social life and I can eat anything without getting any fatter.

I don’t know if it’s an addiction to doing, so much as an addiction for that state of mind. Those moments when the circuits in your mind misfire, when all connections made in my mind seem logical. Damn you Conor Oberst. Those ideas that come so easily in the moonlight are not that simple in the morning. Those bursts of thought. That awe inspiring moment of zen that is so evident in those moments, or hours right before I am gone for the night, that is what I crave.

It is akin to being a child. Those times I never truly appreciated, those are what I crave, when in a drunken like stupor, consequences are in-evident. That is what is special. When inventions and words and images are plenty, when I force myself into that state between wakefulness and dreaming, when my imagination runs wild. That is what I search for in the rest of my life. That magic and endless amazement.

This is why I’m so unhappy and angry all the time. Because I don’t have it.

It’s Funny How Things Change

February 20, 2010 2 comments

When I was young, my birthday parties were huge. About 50 kids would be invited. My entire class, my mother’s friend’s children, the neighbors, even far off cousins. Boys and girls would all play together and it was a mess of streamers and cake. Around the age of ten, it was suddenly not kosher to have friends who were boys. It was barely okay to even talk to one. And if you did you got teased and teased. “You like him,” they’d say.

Even so, every birthday, every girl in class was invited. Not just birthdays either. After every set of examinations or something just as momentous, we would all do everything together.

Being a teenager is harder. You must like a boy, you must have boobs, you only go out with your little circle of friends, who you are ‘oh so super close to’. It’s a bonus if you are also friends with members of the opposite sex.

And then college. Ah college. Everyday is amazing. Freshman year, numbers were exchanged with everyone who stood outside a building having a smoke. Everyone on the floor was nice and everyone in every class was happy to get to know someone.

And then we form circles, ad groups, but I believe we are still spread decently thin. College has parties, and everyone and their dog is invited. You meet people through people, have long philosophical discussions, exchange ideas and phone numbers and promise to add them on facebook. It’s great. A great clusterfuck of booze and the initial rush of meeting someone new.

Then college ends, and everything goes back to how it was at the end of highschool.

This had lead me to a few conclusions/left me with questions:

1. As we progress through a major stage of life, we become more conservative with who we share our time with.

2. We live life in stages. And everything repeats itself like in a tautology.

( speaking of tautologies )

3. I have no idea what comes next. I hope it’s exciting.