Making babies.

This is going to be one of those stream of conscious-y type entries.

Drip, drip, drip.

Surreality takes a metaphysical form: That moment when I realized that all of us are getting married and/or having kids. I went to 4 weddings this past summer, and all of them were uniquely different and totally ridiculous in ways both good and bad. One was very small, one was huge, one was mid-sized, and one was small-ish.

Each time that I got jazzed up and put on my dancin' shoes, I felt the same two-flavored emotion: Excitement and Sadness. Excited to be there for such a magnificent moment in the lives of people I know, and sadness that the seconds and minutes of every single day just sort of fall off the calendar. It's no wonder sand is used in hourglasses. Talk about the perfect, most approximate metaphor, huh?

Sometimes I want kids, and sometimes the idea scares the daylights out of me. Sometimes my brain is all "oh dude, of course you have to have kids, they're so adorable and squishy!" and sometimes it's like "yeah, but then when are you going to visit Italy? Australia? Kenya? Japan? Antarctica?" Then there's that third, instinctual, Freud's Id voice that's like "GO FORTH AND PRO-CREATE, MOTHER FUCKER!!!!" and then sex isn't fun so much as it is a mission statement, and that's a major cockblock by my brain and by stupid biology and stuff.

Sometimes it's tempting to get up out of my office, shut off the computer, leave all my stuff on a street corner in a box marked "Please Take--FREE" and run away to somewhere else that's not here . . . But then, the fact that I have student loans and Facebook makes this pretty much impossible.

Is today's theme "I really want to go do something different?" I think if this were a certain city block populated by muppets and multi-racial kids, it would be sponsored by the letter "P" for "Pensive."


"Can I get-get-get to know-know-know-know ya better-better, baby?"