rad kids

So hon­est emo­tion­al time <puke>:

I love kids in­clud­ing stu­pid ba­bies, they are awe­some. I think they are the very best thing on the plan­et (next to dogs, be­cause re­al­ly noth­ing can beat the awe­some­ness of dogs). I es­pe­cial­ly love how down they are, you can be like “okay the floor is lava, you’re a di­nosaur, I’m a shark, and we have to save this stack of mail from Darth Vad­er” and not ONLY will they be to­tal­ly into it, they’ll add help­ful notes like “what if we can shoot lasers from our eyes that can freeze the lava” —ummm BRILLIANT.

How­ev­er, they make me so fuck­ing ner­vous be­cause I’m so ter­ri­fied that my cyn­i­cal ni­hilism and self-loathing will some­how be trans­ferred onto them through their weird pow­er to just ab­sorb every damn nu­anced piece of their en­vi­ron­ment and cor­rupt their naïveté in an ir­re­versible way. Which sounds like bull­shit but I swear – which obvi may be pro­jec­tion – kids (ba­bies es­pe­cial­ly) can smell that shit on me. 

I also curse and smoke and drink too much and don’t re­al­ly un­der­stand the con­cept of age ap­pro­pri­ate con­ver­sa­tion (what does a kid even un­der­stand at 9? Can we talk about Syr­i­an refugees? It seems like some­thing they should know?), which is all not great.

Then of course nev­er in a mil­lion years would I force some kid into my chaot­ic, ir­re­spon­si­ble, self-in­dul­gent non­sense life, so I’ll nev­er have one to learn all this shit. Plus the end­less mys­tery stick­i­ness, in­abil­i­ty to ful­ly com­mu­ni­cate, and tem­pera­men­tal thing aren’t great to deal with – calm the fuck down, speak in full sen­tences, and wash your damn hands kids, seriously.

What­ev­er. The point is you stu­pid ass­holes keep mak­ing these great, fun, smart kids and it’s mak­ing it hard for me to keep up my “I hate kids” wall which then caus­es the in­ter­nal con­flict of re­al­ly crit­i­cal­ly look­ing at my stu­pid life and hav­ing weird op­ti­mistic rev­e­la­tions which I am not a fan of be­cause I am sur­pris­ing­ly com­fort­able in my per­son­al brand of angst. 

So I guess cut it out guys? Stop hav­ing rad kids so I don’t have to ques­tion my dumb at­tach­ments to the murky wa­ters of ex­is­ten­tial malaise. Blegh.
 
 

—na­tal­ie michelle

Flom­mist Na­tal­ie Michelle does­n’t have a bio. She just rants. Copy­right © 2016 Na­tal­ie Michelle. Child’s Bal­loon Face by flom­mist Dan­ny Joe Gib­son. Copy­right © 2016 DJG.

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