From Pathetic Life #19
Tuesday, Dec. 12, 1995
Tuesdays are usually spent alone in my room, but Judith asked me to clean up around here, which means she has a houseguest coming.
As a rule, we never clean this house unless Judith is expecting company. That’s when we frantically sweep away the hair the dog leaves everywhere, wipe spilled jelly off the kitchen table, mop up the urine splatters around the toilet bowl, etc.
Today I gave six hours to the cause, and Jake says the place now looks like humans live here. If you ask me, it looked more human before we cleaned up, but at five bucks an hour that’s thirty bucks, and this human is happy.
♦ ♦ ♦
Tonight the guests arrived: Judith’s sister-in-law by a previous marriage, and her infant child.
Aw, little babies are so delightful, everyone says. Their tiny scrunched-up faces, their strange noises and smells, their incessant cuteness. What could be more adorable?
Bums. Diarrhea. Athlete’s foot. Stained t-shirts. A cat’s litter box. The list goes on and on. Almost anything is more adorable than the spitting, squealing, screaming, googling, whimpering, and drooling of a newborn. It’s so repulsive I can’t push the earplugs far enough into my ears.
The only thing more annoying than a baby’s babbling is the adults babbling back. “Oooh, it’s an iddy biddy baby!”
Mother and child are only staying for a few days, and then the quiet of Lugosi’s ferocious barking will again be the dominant sound around the house.
Nothing against little barely-humans, but they become more tolerable a few years later, when they can feed themselves and wipe their own asses. Of course, a few years after that, they become intolerable again. Why anyone would voluntarily raise children is a mystery to me.
Give me love, give me love
Give me peace on Earth
Give me light, give me life
Keep me free from birth
—George Harrison
My goal in life is to be the father of none. I am completely free of paternal instinct, which guarantees that I’ll live my life alone. In the highly unlikely event that I find some woman who can stand me, she’ll want children. Most women do. They’re hard-wired for it, by genetics.
My wires are crossed, and if I had the money I’d have my wires snipped.
Addendum, 2022: How odd to see that I used the word ‘googling’ in 1995, referring to baby noises. It’s a word that’s been lost in the decades since.
This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.
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