Letter To My Future Children
I am glad that you are not here to see me grow up, because I tend to make a muck of things. And if I am anything in the future like I am now, you will know that I have a tendency to take something small and insignificant and blow it into proportions no one, not even God, saw coming. This applies to all things good and bad. I imagine the good things will occasionally make it seem like my boundaries are limitless, my dreams better than Disneyland, but the bad could make life hard.
I have a tendency to be cold and unfeeling. I give no quarter. I hold people up to the microscope and I point out their flaws, and when I do it I present it in a manner that expresses my disappointment so clearly, making success seem less than an inch away, and your failure a product of laziness instead of human nature.
I can't imagine under what circumstances I would allow you to read this, but the need to write it came to me today. For the past few weeks I have been making a list of my failures and setting out to right them. And I'm doing it. And I'm proud, but there are hard days. Days I want to kick myself in the teeth for being this disorganized at 27. Unfortunately, I'm not quite as limber as I used to be, and so my teeth remain intact.
And so, what I wanted to tell you is this; know that when you are struggling your worst to become better and I have just laid into you in my calm collected manner that makes you feel like absolute shit, after you left the room? I was filled with doubt. My skin was itchy and I walked towards the door several times to tell you, it's okay. But I was afraid, like I'm always afraid, that if I give an inch someone will take a mile. That you would run out the door, down the street, buy as many syringes, uppers, downers, as you could find and go on the biggest drug binge known to man and then, after waking in the hospital room, your first words would be, "Mom said it was okay! Jesus loves me!" and then proceed to drool on your hospital gown, letting me know that you're now brain damaged and my responsibility forever and ever amen.
Because, as you knows, everyone's just one condoning sentence from mom away from an overdose. Or at least I am.
Love,
Your apparently always screwy mother
Letter To My Future Step-Children
I'm probably not going to like you.
I have a tendency to be cold and unfeeling. I give no quarter. I hold people up to the microscope and I point out their flaws, and when I do it I present it in a manner that expresses my disappointment so clearly, making success seem less than an inch away, and your failure a product of laziness instead of human nature.
I can't imagine under what circumstances I would allow you to read this, but the need to write it came to me today. For the past few weeks I have been making a list of my failures and setting out to right them. And I'm doing it. And I'm proud, but there are hard days. Days I want to kick myself in the teeth for being this disorganized at 27. Unfortunately, I'm not quite as limber as I used to be, and so my teeth remain intact.
And so, what I wanted to tell you is this; know that when you are struggling your worst to become better and I have just laid into you in my calm collected manner that makes you feel like absolute shit, after you left the room? I was filled with doubt. My skin was itchy and I walked towards the door several times to tell you, it's okay. But I was afraid, like I'm always afraid, that if I give an inch someone will take a mile. That you would run out the door, down the street, buy as many syringes, uppers, downers, as you could find and go on the biggest drug binge known to man and then, after waking in the hospital room, your first words would be, "Mom said it was okay! Jesus loves me!" and then proceed to drool on your hospital gown, letting me know that you're now brain damaged and my responsibility forever and ever amen.
Because, as you knows, everyone's just one condoning sentence from mom away from an overdose. Or at least I am.
Love,
Your apparently always screwy mother
Letter To My Future Step-Children
I'm probably not going to like you.
