Pressure

There seems to be a recurring theme in our arguments as of late. Actually, two themes: Money and Kids. And as it happens, both are my fault; the former because I'm into too much stuff (mountain biking, climbing, hiking, snowboarding, etc.), the latter because I am not feeling too hot about the thought of having kids.

Let's tackle the money issue for a moment. For as long as I can remember, I've had countless opportuninties to get into a variety of outdoor activities. I could have been skiing or snowboarding when I was in middle and high school like all of my friends. I could have been hiking and backpacking and getting into mountaineering a little earlier. Sure, all of these opportunities have presented themselves to me in my life at one point or another. But the thing is, I could never take advantage of those opportuninties because I valued pizza a little more than half pipes. Yep, I was too freaking fat to enjoy the things other kids could. And I'm not whining about it; that was the hole I dug for myself and I sat in the bottom of it--and dug it a bit deeper here and there--until recently. So I've lost weight, and now opporunities that were once out of reach to me are now starting to look like a hell of a lot of fun. Thing is, these things cost money. Unfortunately, so does everything else in this stupid world.

So that's one argument. The other is the kid argument. She wants them eventually. She's sure of it. Me? I might maybe probably-but-I'm-not-too-sure want them in the future. The thing is, I haven't had a lot of decent father experiences; my dad's an asshole, his dad's an asshole, and my grandfather's an asshole. Not exactly a sparkling testament to parenting. It's not that I don't love kids, I do, it's just that I love kids that I can hand off at the end of the day and thank god I don't have to put up with it day in and day out.

But then I see some of my coworkers with their kids; they know a love that I don't, understand and involve themselves in a relationship that one can only understand by participating in. And the thing is that they seem okay with the fact that a human life is in their hands to mold and shape, advertantly or otherwise, and seem to feel no pressure about that fact at all; they look at it as a natural step in life. I'm just not seeing it that way. In fact, it's horrifying to me. Being responsible for a dog I can (barely) handle, a human? Are you kidding me? It just doesnt seem to be a viable option to me right now.

Maybe it's different for her. She doesn't have the pressure of three generations of asshole, barely present fathers who dance in and out of life like I do. That's not to say she had a charming upbrining or anything, because that's nowhere near the truth. Or...who knows? Maybe she does have the pressure, the constant what-ifs popping up in her head like so many online insurance banner, but she sees it differently.

Maybe she sees the same risk I do.

She just sees it as one that's worth taking.

In the meantime, I'll be taking donations to the National Broke Husband Assocation.

So that's where the Magic Kingdom is...

Bummed

I wish I would have thought of this.

Absolutly hilarious.

Back in Black (Text)

Looking back over my past few posts, I can't help but notice they were a little...let's just say they were a little dark. And the crazy thing? (Maybe crazy isn't the best word choice there) I was completly unaware of it; I was brushing it off as if envisioning extremly violent mental images was completly normal. I'm not saying it's all done--it's not--but it feels a lot better now. The images aren't commonplace anymore, maybe one here and there, but not a highlight reel taken from Charles Manson's private vault.

It's interesting. When you're feeling down, and not in the Charlie Brown After School Special kind of down, but the dark, malevolent, violent and angry down, you see things much differently. Colors become muted, people are shadows deviod of personality, meaning or emotion; they look at you and see the darkness, the same vile thing that is consuming you. It only pushes you further and further into yourself, into the aggression and isolation that only you can break out of.

Why am I feeling better? Why do I feel hopeful now, when three weeks ago I was lost inside myself, beating my soul into a pitiful existence? I think it can be summed up nicely with two syllables: Jaime.

In the past six weeks, I've put her through more than anyone, married, friend, or otherwise, deserves. I pushed, forced, begged her to leave me. She stayed. I told her the truth, the thoughts the images I was seeing, hoping that she would be scared and leave. She stayed. Even when everyone, our family members, our doctor, our friends, told her otherwise.

She stayed.

And I owe her my life.