It is hard to talk about my childhood, for the simple reason that it is kind of a bummer. I am, of course, affected by it, but talking about it has all these side effects of, well, bumming people out. I want to start a thread on this site about my earlier years, and I just have to do it. I can’t worry about taking breaks to geek out on something else and not being constantly dreary. I am going to write about what is on my mind.
When I was a child, starting at around 9 years old, I was convinced I would die upon becoming an adult. That also meant when I turned 18. It is an absurd idea to have as an adult, understandable for a child in those circumstances, and amazing that it would persist this long, buried deep down, unchallenged until now.
Among the other things becoming a parent does, I suppose it is safe to generalize that most people experience whichever verb best describes pulling at one’s heart. In my case it dredges. It is like a horrible emotion trawler, with nets weighted down by small sharpened anchors that impales the layer of muck and shit that covers my core, scrapping across it and turning the waters brown and red in its wake.
So, yeah, I’ve got some stuff to get off my mind.