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On babies…

January 11, 2014

I like babies. They like me. We have an understanding. But most of all I like my own babies. Other kids are cure and all, but The Son was my favorite baby. Now, The Wife’s sister had a baby and the Wife finds she loves this child more than she ever thought she would. That means we’re stuck baby sitting.

I like babies. I really do. But I don’t want to spend more time with a baby necessary unless it’s my own. My own baby is more interesting to me than yours ever will be. Babies are great to hold for five minutes. Then you find you’re just staring at each other and eventually someone shits or vomits and no matter who it is, you get to clean it up. And so, I go into today with much trepidation and disdain, for we shall be babysitting.

I really do like babies. But your baby is just not interesting enough to me. I have no vested interest at all in that child. At the end of the day, he goes home and you take back over, and he doesn’t care who I am. Will not miss me. I won’t miss him, either.

Again, I really do like babies, but toddlers are more fun. You can do stuff with them. Make stuff. Play outside. Babies just kind of… sit there. Sometimes they cry for no reason, but who doesn’t?

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January 10, 2014

So, back to the new life of Walin. Karen and I are married now, which is funy when I go back and read what I wrote right at the beginning of our relationship. Has anything changed in that relationship due to a ring on a  finger and a slip of paper? No, and it shouldn’t. But some things I wish would change.

The Son is 11 now. ELEVEN. He is more like me than is healthy for a child, and so he gets in trouble quite often for his mouth. I’m sure spoken before about conditions at the Ex’s house, but things are worse now than ever. I understand times are tough all over, and I’m doing pretty well for myself now, but I expect more (and so she should she) for her.

Living in a hotel room is fine as a “Just until the end of the month” move, but that month ended a while back now. The money spent on a hotel room is a waste in the long term, and she keeps saying soon they’ll be in somewhere. I bring these concerns up time and again, how I don’t feel out son is in a safe, healthy environment and would like to live with me. Just for the summer even, so she can have an easier time getting herself back on even footing. One less mouth to feed can make a world of difference. With the money I already make and not having to give any support for that time, he would be fine here. Son is scared, I think. He doesn’t want to leave the life he’s known, because no matter how fucked up something is, if it’s all you know it becomes normal. He will tell me how much he hates it in one breat and say no when I ask him if he wants to come live with us. I think he’s afraid to hurt his mother, more than anything.

No matter what I think of her, the Ex is doing her best and my son is mostly happy and healthy (he’s eleven so when the horomones hit we’re all screwed, but he’s fine for now) but her best is not good enough. There are still moments when she complains to me about her other baby daddy, or the living situation, or any number of ridiculous things, and when I give her advice it is completely disregarded.

Advice is not something that HAS to be taken and acted upon, but when I give valid options and you none, but nothing ever changes, you are being stupid.

My good ting for the day I still have a decent job, roof over my head, and food to eat.

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Back again, beating a dead horse

January 9, 2014

I work, I sleep, I eat. The repetitiveness is there again. Not in such a bad way, though. More of a rhythm, I suppose. I’ve been working at a cable company’s tech support offices. Your internet or phone breaks, you call me. Customer service to the extreme. All the good sides, and bad sides.

My day starts at 5 AM when my alarm goes off, and then I try and wake up until about 615 AM, when I leave for work. I stop at McDonald’s for breakfast, just a sausage McMuffin and a hash brown, then I head into work. I eat my breakfast, make a cup of terrible coffee, and sign in for the day.

I work until 4PM, I drive home, I play video games until about 830PM and then I cook for Karen. We’re married now, by the way. The last time I talked about her was in March, we married in November. Time flies, they say.

About 915 Karen  is home, we eat, we watch TV until about 11, which is bed time.

I don’t really feel in a rut at this point, but I am rather bored most days. I sometimes dive into a creative activity but seldom finish what I started.

These thoughts are scattered, out of focus, and not very well worded. It reminds me of the beginnings of the blog. I need to get back into writing this, as the therapeutic value never really ends, does it? Besides, being in customer service I have a lot of hatred and aggression to the American general public.

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I try so very, very hard

December 7, 2013

But I just can’t get back to blogging. A happy life is one without anything to talk about. Maybe not happy, per se, but certainly one mostly free of drama. Without drama, what do you write about? Things are good, for those who care.

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Strength…

March 28, 2013

I have more than anyone will ever know, save the Ex and myself.

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after all this time…

March 28, 2013

Yesterday was rather normal. My son was here, we were playing video games, the GF was at work. It was a good weekend, overall, and the day had been good as well. Then I get the text. It wasn’t so much the text, but the picture in it.

I like tits as much as any other man, but these were strange to me. Now, anyways. They were tits I hadn’t seen in about 8 years. The were The Ex’s. They were bigger than I remembered (having an extra kid will do that I’m sure) and I liked them. A lot. Then and now.

The conversation started as witty banter and mild insults, the verbal equivalent of winks and elbow jabs, but things escalated quickly from there. Prowess came up, and I was spinning tales of oral acrobatics and stamina. Then the worst came (not what you think).

She offered me sex. She said if I ever wanted casual sex with someone who wouldn’t tell anyone, she was my woman. That she had been considering it in her newfound sexual freedom (coughslutcough) since I was tops of the list in terms of fucking last she remembered.

After 8 years she offers me sex. It was about 7 years too late, though it threw me for a loop. I was shocked, awed, and excited. I also was guilty, having a hard time coping, and wondering why. After all this time, why give me what I thought I no longer wanted now? Her timing was horrible, or great depending, since the GF had recently started a no sex til marriage born again virgin kind of thing. I’d masturbated a lot, but hadn’t real sex in weeks.

I considered it, and for that I feel like a shithead, still. But I haven’t stopped considering it. What does that make me? I have the picture on my phone still, peeking time after time at her breasts. When I spoke with her while dropping the Son off, all I could see in my head were those tits, only thoughts were of fucking her in so many ways, and it was all I could do to not make things awkward.

What does that say about me, though? It makes me question who I think I am, to a point. I would still fuck her, and I still love her. Is the rest a lie?

Suppose it depends on the next steps I take. Refuse or submit to the offer. Time shall tell, because unlike normal times, I am weak to this one.

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Dream a little dream…

June 28, 2012

I had a dream the other day that greatly disturbed me. Many of the details were mundane and harmless, but the end is what got to me. The Earth was dying. Oxygen, that gas we so desperately need, was running low. People were dying. We were all that was left. I remember singing Crazy by Aerosmith as we ran to some forgotten destination. Then I remember the blackness overtaking me just before waking. 

I’ve died in dreams before. Well, woke up just before the dying, anyways. This time was different. I could feel all of it. The dsrkness was slow to come, and while running began to slow and the words of Crazy slurred, I could feel my hand falling asleep. Eventually I could not control that hand, or my legs, and died lying on the grass, gasping “I’m crazy for you baby”. 

I immediately woke after that, dramatic, cinematic, and surprisingly without waking Karen, shooting straight up from sleep, eyes wide, breathing heavy. My nose was a bit stopped up, but I doubt that’s what brought the dream. A few moments later I was lying back down, but I wouldn’t be sleeping again for a while. The next day was a drag, but thankfully the dream faded from memory and I can now write it without the tightness in my chest welling up.

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