|
Friday, Apr. 28, 2006 / 9:20 p.m. ~My Body, My Choice~ Yesterday was such a beautiful day, the sky so incredibly blue, the lush flora all so incredibly green, in so very many shades, the wind blowing so damned breezily, like it sometimes does, the temperature hovering at a state of near perfection, that I didn't mind driving all the way home and back on my lunch break, just to pick up my DSL installation kit, only to find the apartment office, where said package had been delivered the day before, closed. It could have been worse, it could have been raining and miserable. I stopped at a Hardee's on my way back, picking up an old favorite, the Hot Ham 'n Cheese sandwich, and some famous Hardee's fries, eating the fries on the way back to work, then the sandwich on the patio outside our building, enjoying the day, wishing the new Temp wasn't also sitting out there at her own table. Once I saw her talking on her mobile I didn't mind talking on mine, calling my friend to wish her a happy birthday, singing a bit of the birthday song, then eating my sandwich. The Temp doesn't eat at lunch, says she is too fat - she starves herself all day and then goes home at night to overeat, but this is her issue, not mine. She also doesn't read, as her eyes are bad and they require surgery for repair. She is our data entry clerk, horribly miscast. I dislike her for this very reason, she is all wrong for the part. I got up to throw away my refuse after eating, wanting to get away from her view, and it was time to go back to work anyway, and stopped to be friendly, asked her wasn't it a beautiful day, though I knew the answer already, and we both agreed, and I watched a car drive slowly through our parking lot and park in reserved parking, without the appropriate sticker on the windshield, noting to the Temp that this could be a problem (I did my good deed by finding the person and letting her know to move her car so she wouldn't get ticketed - see, I am a good person, I swear!), and what does the Temp say in response? Really, what does she say to me in regard to incorrect parking procedures in our lot? "You have any chirdren [sic]?" Looking totally puzzled, I replied, "Um, no." And she says, no shit, she says, "YOU DON'T HAVE ANY CHIRDREN??!?!?!?!!!!!?????!!!!" So I says, I says, "Should I?", and she says, "Don't you want any?", and I want to go into my spiel about how I used birth control during my sexually active years, and how most people seem to breed quite by 'accident', and I never wanted an 'accidental conception', so I planned ahead, and partly I was lucky, and now I not only do not engage in sexual activity with any people besides myself, but I have no 'partner', and only enough money to feed myself and my cats, and now to pay for the DSL service to which I foolishly subscribed, foolishly because I knew my PC would not be compatible, but I did it anyway, and so why would I have children, biological or otherwise? Bringing life into this world is a vast and enormous responsibility and commitment, and the potential to fuck up another human being is so insanely humongous, why would I ever? People who really think hard about what breeding means, in this age of overpopulation, idiotic 'finger on the red button' politics, invasion and occupation strongarm tactics, smog so thick you can taste it, water no one can drink, disappearing ecosystems, and a minimum wage that no one can live on, gas over $3/gallon, no, wait, anyone who thinks about all this crap, and only has a mere pittance of an income is not about to go fuck some stranger to make a baby, hit up the sperm bank, nor adopt a Namibian orphan. THINK, sister, use your fucking brain, if you have one. Fucking idiotic out of the blue question. And not the first time some highly unintelligent and uneducated nincompoop has asked me why I haven't bared no babies yet. "Ain't I gonna bear no chirdren? Fuck no, I'm too smart, and at the moment... celibate. Fucking duh." I only wanted to mention to her, as I was tossing my Hardee's bag and French fry container, and Hot Ham 'n Cheese sandwich box and wrapper (Hardee's wraps their sandwiches, on account of because they're so BIG) in the designated trash receptacle, that the woman who just parked her car was in danger of receiving a traffic citation, non-moving violation and all of that, but still. What on earth did any of that have to do with my choice to, or not to, procreate? Fucking nosy unqualified bitch. Yeah, that's right. My body, my choice. And don't YOU forget it. Oh yes, I also didn't even mention the risk of Down's Syndrome and other birth defects, as I am no proverbial, or otherwise, spring chicken. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |