Went to the library after work today and picked up "The Joshua Tree" by U2 and "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad (the book "Apocalypse Now" is based off of). So far it's a decent read. I really like Conrad's writing style.
Anyway, this isn't my reason for writing this blog. I'm trying to keep myself in an upbeat mood, but it seems everyone's out to either piss me off or make me break down into a jibbering mess.
First off, my photographer bailed on me. No call on the evening we had scheduled. No call since. It's been 24 hours since I last called him. I doubt I'll bother trying again. For those who know, you understand my annoyance. For those who don't, don't ask. You'll know when I'm ready to tell you. And frankly, I'm in no mood to discuss this, either.
The meat of this vent is what happened a little while ago. My mom started questioning whether Emma is mine. I don't know if I've brought this up before, but it's not the first time she's done that. She keeps pressing me to get a paternity test done, and I keep refusing.
Her reasoning goes like this:
What if she's not yours, and the father has some genetic issues (prone to a rare disease, etc...). It'd be good to know.
Just for clarification, I've never thought Emma wasn't mine. The thought never crossed my mind for a moment. What mom doesn't seem to understand is that, whoever is her father, genetically speaking, I'm Daddy. And honestly, it'd ultimately do more harm than good to all involved, regardless of the results.
Let's go hypothetical for a sec (if you've gone this far, bear with me. I'm almost done). Let's say I'm not her genetic father. Emma would eventually figure out why she has two daddies. She'd possibly wind up hating her mother for that (I know I didn't sign up for a sperm donor). She'd feel abandoned because her real father wanted nothing to do with her. I can't imagine what it'd do to Josh and my parents. I do know that things wouldn't ever be the same.
And I know it'd ruin me completely.
I'd still love my daughter to death, but there'd be that little bit in the back of my mind, despite my best efforts to block it out.
I tell her "This is not open for discussion. There will be no test. Period." and she persists. Even dad told her to quit being so pushy. But she doesn't listen. And dad's going with her on the idea, but in a less agressive manner.
He knows my answer, and he accepts it, though doesn't agree with it.
Ultimately, I'll have to get out of here soon. Aside from my kids, my only real happiness is two thousand miles away, and I won't see her again for a couple months.
On top of all this, I'll be 26 in exactly three weeks. This prospect does not exactly have me in a "balloons and presents" mood.
To all those wanting to know what I'm doing for my birthday, here's your answer:
I'm going to turn off my cellphone, leave the kids with my parents for the night, and go on a marathon bender. Alone. In a very dark and quiet bar. This is exactly what I want, and this is what I'll do. If anyone has a problem with that, change the fucking channel.
Ok, I'm done.
Anyway, this isn't my reason for writing this blog. I'm trying to keep myself in an upbeat mood, but it seems everyone's out to either piss me off or make me break down into a jibbering mess.
First off, my photographer bailed on me. No call on the evening we had scheduled. No call since. It's been 24 hours since I last called him. I doubt I'll bother trying again. For those who know, you understand my annoyance. For those who don't, don't ask. You'll know when I'm ready to tell you. And frankly, I'm in no mood to discuss this, either.
The meat of this vent is what happened a little while ago. My mom started questioning whether Emma is mine. I don't know if I've brought this up before, but it's not the first time she's done that. She keeps pressing me to get a paternity test done, and I keep refusing.
Her reasoning goes like this:
What if she's not yours, and the father has some genetic issues (prone to a rare disease, etc...). It'd be good to know.
Just for clarification, I've never thought Emma wasn't mine. The thought never crossed my mind for a moment. What mom doesn't seem to understand is that, whoever is her father, genetically speaking, I'm Daddy. And honestly, it'd ultimately do more harm than good to all involved, regardless of the results.
Let's go hypothetical for a sec (if you've gone this far, bear with me. I'm almost done). Let's say I'm not her genetic father. Emma would eventually figure out why she has two daddies. She'd possibly wind up hating her mother for that (I know I didn't sign up for a sperm donor). She'd feel abandoned because her real father wanted nothing to do with her. I can't imagine what it'd do to Josh and my parents. I do know that things wouldn't ever be the same.
And I know it'd ruin me completely.
I'd still love my daughter to death, but there'd be that little bit in the back of my mind, despite my best efforts to block it out.
I tell her "This is not open for discussion. There will be no test. Period." and she persists. Even dad told her to quit being so pushy. But she doesn't listen. And dad's going with her on the idea, but in a less agressive manner.
He knows my answer, and he accepts it, though doesn't agree with it.
Ultimately, I'll have to get out of here soon. Aside from my kids, my only real happiness is two thousand miles away, and I won't see her again for a couple months.
On top of all this, I'll be 26 in exactly three weeks. This prospect does not exactly have me in a "balloons and presents" mood.
To all those wanting to know what I'm doing for my birthday, here's your answer:
I'm going to turn off my cellphone, leave the kids with my parents for the night, and go on a marathon bender. Alone. In a very dark and quiet bar. This is exactly what I want, and this is what I'll do. If anyone has a problem with that, change the fucking channel.
Ok, I'm done.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
This future conversation can only end badly....I can just feel it.