quick, short bursts of writing.
I didn’t want to be somebody’s husband and I didn’t want to be somebody’s dad, that wasn’t my goal in life. But somehow it was.
Same here. I've been thinking about it this morning, on my way to work, and I thought, oh well, it's so much better than finding "love" all over again. Or "fun". I wouldn't have to go through what the rest of my colleagues are feeling: in the dark, no purpose in life. It's strange of me to tell this--not that I'm a whole new convert who thinks I have a purpose now (I guess I'll never have one)--but at least I do have errands every now and then (milking bottles, playing with son) which is fulfilling, to say the least. Or the fact that if I die at least someone will bear my last name--that sort of urge to procreate/give life (for the lack of a better term--maybe "life urge"? genealogy shit) has been accomplished.
Somehow, it's the only thing I know that I can do.