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bates--boy · 4 years

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Peter shouldn’t be here; being here messed up his headspace, made things all topsy-turvy, like he was in a simulation and one misstep, one error in a line of code, and he was going to blip smack dab into an unfamiliar plane that he would spend the rest of his existence feeling wasn’t right, but unable to explain why while pretending normalcy. How else was he to feel after that misadventure? For those few days, he had a taste of godhood, far superior to the nationhood he had craved as a child. To come down from that and return to the semi-human life he had built for himself, it was a crashing and tumbling spiral that looked his egomania right in the eyes while crushing its nuts with steel toe boots.

Peter needed more recovery time to adjust and remind himself that he was here, that this was his body, that he couldn't go toe-to-toe with celestial bodies, that he had more pressing matters to attend to, anyway, such as one with his cursed journal and the elusive intruder that always tempted him to look over his shoulder. And also that he needed a nap.

But he had made a full physical recovery, so that meant coming to work. He followed his coworker down the gated corridor, nodding along to the updated animal care regimen while only able to note half of the lecture while trying to make the exploding and spinning stars slow down into a manageable equilibrium.

"Right now, we have the tortoises on stimulants and steroids to encourage increased breeding," the coworker whose name Peter's overwrought mind couldn't draw forth. "But it has to be at a certain time because, you know, you don't want them fucking in front of kids."

They stopped in front of the gear station, which was nothing but padded and plated vests, rubber boots, and face shields hanging on metal hooks with tranq guns sitting on racks. They donned these protective layers over their regular uniform, as the coworker continued on:

"The lions are doing well, and we're mostly sticking to the same regimen. We're just going to increase their food intake a tad for the upcoming season. Get them fattened up for the cold."

Peter nodded silently, and they approached the gates with the coworker giving a thumbs up to the camera peeking through the rocky upper corner. They waited for the barricade to lift and stepped on through the opening, and the coworker inhaled deep into his lungs the tangy, wild air of the lion enclosure.

"Okay, I'll go hose down the resting rocks, and you can clean up their toys. Got your tranq ready?"

Peter gave his handgun a quick look. "Yep."

"And radio?"

Peter reached within his best and pulled the little handheld device out, wiggling it in his hand as a gesture before putting it in his outer vest pocket.

Nodding to each other, the two men wandered off to their tasks. Peter filled the power hose container with soapy water and carried it over to one of the play sections. The ammoniac strength of urine marking the tire wheels had already made Peter's eye watered. He had tried to rip apart a great big body of singularity before this, yet this had somehow made his nose drip.

He continued wiping his face, spitting thick snot that found its way into the wrong sinus tube. In some part of his mind, Peter was still on that kitchen floor, rocking and hugging himself and letting his bleeding hands stain his sweat shirt. He turned away, hacking and coughing, heading to the next section.

He stopped, his head whipping to the side. He blinked over and over, practically digging the heel of his hands into his eyes, but what caught his attention was definitely real.

A charging lion, eyes set and head low, hainches pumping with power and all paws kicking up clouds of dirt. Peter had noticed it too late, or it was running too quickly. In either case, he couldn't train his gun on the lioness for an accurate hit, nor could he radio for help. Some part of him was aware that he could survive this, that even if he was ripped to shreds and -- god forbid! -- his insides eaten, he might come back from this. Still, the chill of fear rippled from his back, spreading to shoulders and fingers and toes, opening up to the strength of his fort as he fully faced the running creature.

Then, and only then, did Peter pick up on the odd loping of the lioness's gallop. Then, the looping tongue hanging from the side of her mouth. Finally, as she drew closer, the speckled dark spots running from her left paw up to her face.

He had managed to say one word, as eyes widened and mouth hung open--

"Nala?!"

-- and in that split second, Peter's body softened, retaining enough strength to catch the goofy lion cub in unexpected arms. They both tumbled to the ground, Nala drowning Peter in her purrs, trapping him in her arms, and bumping and rubbing her head against his. "Nala!" Peter called out in a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, my god, my baby girl!"

His sense of the world shifted, everything felt right in those few moment, as he shifted himself and his baby girl, not so much a baby anymore, around in the ground so he could cradle the overgrown cub on his lap. This way, it was easier to place smooches all over her face and play nibble on her gigantic paws while cooing, "Awww, sweetheart, I missed you, too!"

#life thus far ( story )#droid noodle #long post #mobile

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trifoliate-undergrowth · 5 years

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m hangery

Words cannot express the deep, intense and unreasonable RAGE I feel when I see non-gluten free people eating up the food at the gluten free station. Like, oh, I’M SORRY man who could eat literally anything at any of the stations open here; was the pizza line too long for you?? Is that why you come over here for our pitiful chicken stir fry, which I guarantee is not any better than any of the multiple options open to you? You didn’t feel like waiting in the line? You fucker. You absolute buffoon. I HAVE NOT HAD PROPER PIZZA SINCE SIXTH GRADE. You fuckers could have LITERALLY ANYTHING in this cafeteria and you come over to my allergen-friendly section with its limited amount of food with your goddamned jock appetites and “I’m in The Football! I’m allowed to eat an entire building if I feel like it because it’s my God-given Right!” and you clean out the stir fry so when I come back for seconds (because no one gives A Girl large helpings like you get because everyone can see you’re in The Football, because GOD FORBID A Girl should ALSO have an appetite), there isn’t any left; bonus Rage Points for if you degenerates say it “doesn’t taste good” and throw away half of it, also THANK YOU dude just brazenly bringing over a plate FULL OF GLUTEN and making the server just fuckin put the specially-prepared gluten free foods for people with sensitivities ON TOP OF THE WHEAT PRODUCTS ALREADY HEAPED ON YOUR PLATE, THUS CROSS-CONTAMINATING ALL THE REST OF THE FOOD IF SHE SO MUCH AS TOUCHES THE SPOON TO IT, yes, THANK YOU sir for showing literally everyone around you that you Literally Do Not Give a Single Fuck about the sign RIGHT THERE saying hey this is the allergen-free station pls keep it clean and only eat here if you HAVE to so we’ll have enough food for people who actually NEED TO EAT HERE, THANK YOU, SIR, for showing me that you, who can eat NORMAL PIZZA whenever you so desire and have the choice of any of the foods offered at ANY of the any other multiple food stations rather than this ONE devoted station, feel entitled enough to ALL AND ANY FOOD that you can just wander over and be like “yeah put some of that special allergen-friendly food on my gluten-covered plate with that supposed-to-be-sterile spoon lady” and then go fucking take a single bite and go “this tastes gross. It doesn’t have enough Bread in it” and throw it out while I’m taking a panicked lap around the cafeteria trying to find something I can safely eat before I have to head to my next class FUCKERS. You can have any of this food at any time WHY DO YOU COME MESS WITH MY FOOD THERE IS A LIMITED AMOUNT OF IT, YOU GIGANTIC MAN-HOOVERS, YOU BRAINLESS CONSUMERS, STICK TO YOUR GODDAMN PIZZA, I DON’T COMPLAIN WHEN YOU MEATSACKS EAT IT IN FRONT OF ME BUT BY GOD IF YOU DEPRIVE ME OF THE SPECIALLY-PREPARED FOOD I CAN ACTUALLY EAT I AM GOING TO ASCEND TO AN ELDRITCH REALM BY THE POWER OF PURE UNADULTERATED RAGE AND CONSUME THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE IN MY HANGER

#I hope this ridiculous rant was funny to someone #hangry #don't worry I got food I just also got an intense wave of rage #there were so many people I KNEW weren't actually gluten free in the line that there almost wasn't enough and GUESS WHAT #when I finally got up there I couldn't eat it anyway because it was full of BUTTER #WHICH IS ANOTHER THING I CAN'T HAVE #and this rage reminded me of how angry I get about stuff like this in general #and I started to remember all my grievances #one time a Dude reached for a GF/DF cupcake I had bought specially and brought to an event with me in a cup #so that I could have dessert along with everyone else who could actually eat the provided desert #and I snatched it away like something feral #I think I scared him #DON'T TOUCH MY CUPCAKE YOU HAVE LITERALLY EVERYTHING ELSE ON THE TABLE #EACH YOUR GODDAMN BREADSTICKS MAN #THIS IS MY CUPCAKE #I BROUGHT IT FROM HOME #EAT YOUR BREADSTICKS #... wow I go feral at the drop of a hat if food is in question. this is. concerning #CONCERN #I really don't get this angry often I just. if I feel like someone is taking away my food I just turn into a rabid dog #it's... yikes #ANYWAYS I SURE HOPE THIS WAS FUNNY TO SOMEONE BECAUSE IT'S WEIRD AS HELL FOR ME #I'm not actually allergic enough that cross-contamination causes noticeable problems for me but I know that some people are #and I'm concerned on their behalf #cuz they expect this food to be clean and here's mr jock dude with his pasta coming over making the lunch lady ladle the-wow tongue twister #anyway comes over here causing cross contamination making her touch his plate #like does that affect me personally? no. might it cause severe problems for someone else? Y E S

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queennicoleinboots · 3 years

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Mothman Attacks Peter's Canned Goods

"What the fuck? Why is there a gigantic moth eating my canned goods?" Peter screamed.

That bullshit was what I walked on in THIS time. The same moth from last year's razzle dazzle bullshit in March 2020 returned to attack Peter's pantry once more.

"Get out of my house! Get out of my house!" Peter said through gritted teeth. "I thought I left you behind on Earth!" He screamed. A giant moth followed Peter around when he lived on Earth. There was a moth attack in his house led by Mothman back in 2019 and in 2020.

"You followed us here!" Godiva screamed at Mothman. "Get that moth out of my house! God Forbid someone pays for their groceries!" She threw a rolling pin at Mothman.

Mothman turned to her, took a bag of cornmeal out of her pantry, and flew at her. "Hey bitch!" he yelled with a booming voice as he went toward her.

"Ah!!!" she uttered as she tried to take the bag of cornmeal away from the big ass moth.

"I will reproduce in your cornmeal bag that you paid for. Please offer your vaginal secretions," said Mothman.

"No way. Those strictly stay in my panties!" she said as she took the bag of cornmeal.

A can of corn flew right the fuck at Mothman's head and hit it. When Mothman's head exploded, tons of moths flew out of his head and went after everything in the pantry.

"Oh Goddammit! How the fuck was I supposed to know THAT was gonna happen?!" Peter said as he threw his hands in the air.

"I don't know, but you're an idiot right now," Godiva said as she threw the can of corn at Peter's head.

Peter dodged it and looked at her with wide eyes. "Jesus, Mom! You could have fucking knocked me out!" Peter yelled at her before he threw a can of green beans at her head. "How do you like this?"

She deflected it with a pizza pan and threw a jug of vinegar at his head. "You deserved it, you pisshead!" she yelled at him.

The jug of vinegar exploded and melted some of the moths. Some vinegar also exploded all over Peter's white shirt.

"Oh Goddammit, Godiva!" he growled as he took his shirt off and wrung it out on some of the remaining moths.

Whines and screams of suffering moths could be heard as Peter and Godiva were throwing vinegar jugs, cleaning supplies, pots, pans and canned vegetables at each other.

I stared at this furious family and blinked. "Do you want me to call a Moth Busters company?" I asked with a chuckle. I tried very hard to stifle my laughter.

Godiva and Peter turned toward me with stares of hatred. "Yesss!" they both said with gritted teeth.

"Okay then," I said as I began to dial 1-900-FU-MOTHS. 800 numbers weren't accessible in outer space. The toll-free numbers started with 900 here.

"Hey Godiva. You should throw balsamic vinegar at Peter," I said with a grin. "I think you about threw everything else at him today."

"Good idea, Xara," she said as she opened the refrigerator and threw the balsamic vinegar at Peter.

He caught it and grinned. "Haha. I caught it! Hehe," he said as he started spraying some on the moths. "Take this, you stupid fuckers!"

"Try throwing borax on his head," said Godiva.

"Good idea," I said as I sneaked into the laundry room, grabbed a box of Borax and sprayed Peter with it. I killed a few moths in the process.

Peter was grunting and swearing. His body was covered in borax. He brushed some off his chest before taking the box of borax out of my hand and pouring the rest of it on me.

I laughed and sprayed vinegar on him.

"Oh come on, Xara! Give me that!" he yelled as he took the bottle from me and sprayed the whole pantry. "We have to clean this whole fucking pantry out! Sigh!"

Godiva walked in and put Peter's dirty shirt in the washing machine. She added more laundry before starting the machine. "If you guys don't mind," she said as she bumped into Peter as she walked. "I'm going to take a nice, long hot shower. My clothes are sticking to me."

"Oh sure, Mom. You get to take a nice hot shower! Meanwhile I'm covered in borax, vinegar, and EVERYTHING ELSE YOU threw at me today!" Peter yelled at her as she walked away.

"That's because I'm head of household and the queen of the house. Meanwhile, you're a lowly prince who is tall enough to clean the pantry," she said as she lightly flipped her wispy gray hair with her right hand, turned around, and looked at him. "Besides, you being covered in borax is a sign of a hard-working man." She grinned as she walked away.

"Mhm," I said as I climbed on a ladder and started to help him clean stuff.

"Grgrrrrggggrrrrr women! Besides, you're one to talk. You have to help me CLEAN this mess," he said with a grin. "It's all over my fucking glasses." He took his glasses off and cleaned them.

"I'm well aware, duckhead," I said as I threw a can of succotash at his head. Apparently, the combination of tomatoes, corn, and lima beans is popular on this Green Planet AND in the Southern United States. Apparently, we landed in an area that would be considered similar to the South... on another planet.

He growled as I heard the can bounce off his head. I could feel him shooting lasers out of his eyes onto the back of my head. "I didn't need that."

"You sure?" I asked as I threw a box of something similar to raisins at him.

"Oh I don't know! Cleaning the pantry is driving me crazy," he said as he took a rag and cleaned the cans off. The moths already made several larvae on the cans and everything else. Peter was sighing and swearing. He looked like he would rather do anything else besides what he was doing. "You know what else pisses me off? I have to work tomorrow."

I burst out laughing as I sprayed and wiped down the shelves. I was too busy laughing my head off at an extremely angry Peter. I, too, would have rather been doing anything besides dealing with Mothman's bullshit army.

"Oh fuck you. You know, I really hate my job sometimes. And you know the fucking kicker?" Peter asked as he slammed a can of pork and beans on the floor. "I'm not going to look much different than what I do now!"

It was true. He was now a pizza delivery boy who somehow always managed to get flour or borax on himself. I assume it's a result of space trash.

"Oh thank God. Then I'm glad you're going to work tomorrow. Where are you going?" I asked.

"To Bluto, the so-called planet in the galaxy right past the Milky Way!" he answered before he made a stupid face and made a stupid noise to go with it.

I cracked up again. I was spraying randomly and trying to clean, laugh, and breathe at the same time. I took more cans off the shelf and set them on the floor before spraying and cleaning the shelves.

His phone beeped. "I'm 56. People text me?" He got up and went to get his phone. He looked at it. "Be there at 9 a.m., mother fuckers!"

"Your job said 'mother fuckers,'" I asked.

"Noooo. I just added it in there," he said as he grumbled and cleaned boxes and cans in his jeans that were covered with borax and vinegar.

"Who wants pizzas at 9 a.m.?" I asked.

"A bunch of higgggghhhhh mother fuckers," Mothman said as he leaned on the doorway with his right ankle crossing over the left. He now had two heads.

"Ughhhh. I thought we got rid of you," Peter said.

"Yeah. The moth busters were supposed to be here by now," I said.

"If you thought things took forever on Earth, they take even longer here," Mothman said. "Moth Busters are coming from 10 light years away."

Peter rolled his eyes and said, "Oh geez!"

"If you weren't covered in Borax and Vinegar, I'd hug you just to add to your pain and suffering," Mothman said.

Peter raised his eyebrow and chuckled. "What? No! There is no way I'm hugging a moth. Hahahahahahaha!!!! Why would you send your army to destroy my houses?"

"Because you're a fucking asshole," Mothman said. "And you have destroyed my home as much as you destroyed my head. I now have two heads thanks to you and the reaction to this new planet." It was true. This Green Planet definitely has some crazy-looking creatures.

"Whoa!" Peter said as he looked up at Mothman. "I destroyed YOUR home. Bro! Moths were coming out of MY toilet on Earth, and I destroyed YOUR home? I think you got this fuckin' backwards, dude!" Peter let out his trademark loud laugh. But on this planet, it brought upon cherubs who liked to sing the last sentence he just spoke.

So a bunch of cherubs sang, "I think you got this fuckin' backwards, dude!"

"'Maybe," Mothman said. "We're not on Earth anymore."

"Definitely not. And I couldn't be happier," Peter said.

"Same. Earth is burning from within," Mothman said. "That's another reason why I flew out of that planet."

"Are you an intergalactic space traveler?" I asked.

"Yes," Mothman said.

His pager started to beep. He mumbled in moth language and answered it. "Yello!"

"Yellow is the color of your energy!" a woman on the other line sang.

"And the cat sours the basil. What's your point?" Mothman asked.

"When are you getting home? The kids need fed!" the woman asked.

"Soon! I'm well aware. 200 of them died on the mission to destroy Peter's sanity," Mothman said.

"Did it work?" the woman asked.

On cue, Peter took a deep breath and let out a blood curdling scream that broke the sound barrier again. Even George, George of the Jungle asked what was wrong.

Joebear yelled in the distance, "Get the fuck out of here! Get the fook out of here."

The planet turned upside down, and Godiva floated in the air in a bathrobe as she emerged from her bedroom.

"Answers my question. Are you on your way home?" Mothman's female partner asked.

"Yeeeessss!!!" Mothman said with a proud smile as he flew through Peter's ceiling.

"Goddammit! Goddammit! Now have to fix the hole in the ceiling!!!!" Peter shouted as he used his whole right arm to point to the gigantic hole in the ceiling.

The house breathed and started to mend the hole itself.

A dark angel with large black wings was singing as he floated above the new Parker residence. He had blood red hair down to his shoulders, bluish yellowish hazel eyes with specks of green in them, a bushy reddish brown beard, and a pointy nose. He was 15 feet tall and wore a black cape, a black long-sleeved button-down shirt, a tie with the design of fire on it, black slacks, a black belt with fire around it, and black dress shoes.

The dark angel's voice was Heaven. The house was becoming new and fresh. Peter and Godiva bought it when it was in a decent condition. But it was not new.

Godiva had the biggest smile on her face as she heard him sing.

Peter nodded his head in approval.

Tug emerged from whatever hiding place he was in and howled in harmony with the dark angel.

The dark angel graced our home and addressed the basenji. "Great basenji. You have brought honor to this home," he spoke in a melodic voice.

Tug howled in a high-pitched tone.

"Thank you for fixing my house," Peter said.

"No problem," the dark angel said.

I looked at his features more closely and realized that he was the same angel that smited the Publix on I-11 almost three years ago. The angel was bald with no beard before. He also had white wings and wore white and khakis before. I was interested in how he transformed.

"Put the food back in the pantry, and I will tell thee my story. I will give you a hint. It was planet Earth that caused me to become dark, morose, and full of regrets. But the ending is very happy," the dark angel spoke before he turned to me with intense eyes. "Go forth! And organize! The tale is great!"

Peter and I put the cans and boxes away. We were very curious to hear his story.

(Part of it is in Taco Mac with Colonel Mac, Office Woes, the Office Got Fucked Up, and Doing Business As Swamp Business. The other parts of the story will come soon.)

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pisati · 5 years

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I suppose it's a product of the society we live in, but I feel messed up in some ways for not wanting my own children. Not liking babies, not even really thinking they're cute. Being terrified of pregnancy. I almost wish I could be 'normal' about it, in the same way I sometimes wish I could be 'normal' about sexual attraction and drive. It would make things so much less complicated, feels like. I looked it up. Just a few scattered articles about women who don't want children (some of which say "it's perfectly normal!"). A lot of the justifications some of these women give are... honestly really pretentious. Some of these people just think babies are plain gross. And they can be; they're little poop machines, they puke, they blow mucus everywhere... but I saw one article that was like "they're gross and inconsiderate and selfish" like... fucking duh? They're infants. They don't know how to control their bodily functions quite yet and they don't know how else to communicate their needs. "You're a baby. You have nothing to do. If you're tired, just sleep instead of crying about it" like how fucking stupid are y'all? Have you ever tried falling asleep when you're tired but your brain just won't let you? Did it occur to you that infants have to learn things as basic as the concept of object permanence, and maybe they cry when they're tired because they just don't know what else to do about it? Being tired fucking sucks. Even at 25 I sometimes get so tired I want to cry. Fuck off. And "inconsiderate"?? As if babies have even the slightest concept of "considerate"? They are wired to survive. To need their parents to provide for them. That is what they know how to do. "Considerate" is learned. God. Those things are not an issue I really have with babies. I get kind of secondhand embarrassed when babies do stupid things, but I understand they're learning. I get super grossed out by the idea of diaper blowouts and spit-up and faces covered in snot and every food they try to ingest, but... I know if that were my child it'd be a little easier to deal with. I'm fine with my pets' bodily functions, I don't see why, if I loved something enough, it should really be a problem. Some people don't get that. But they say they love their pets in a way they don’t care for children; makes me wonder how they actually treat them. Some people think babies are life-ruiners, but of course they're going to be if they're not wanted, you absolute fucking morons. They are work. Some women love being a mom but hate motherhood, and that's understandable. Some people don't want to give up their careers, because honestly, raising children is a full-time job in itself. Babies maybe won't ruin your life's work, but they certainly can derail it and be a weight you have to carry around for a lifetime. Not everyone is ready to commit to that. But that's not an issue I seem to have with them either. If I wanted them, they'd be worked into my future plans. It wouldn't be ruining my life if that was the way I wanted my life to go, you know? The people that think it's the worst thing that could happen to their career... shouldn't have them, lmao. Those kids are going to grow up knowing they're resented. Knowing that you had things you wanted to do with your life, until they came along. They're going to feel like a burden on you, and you’ll probably take out your regret on them at some point. Your feeling like you "need" to have a child because of societal expectations doesn't trump the wellbeing of the child you're bringing into this world. There's the tantrums. The crying, the screaming, the not listening to reason. That's one thing I can actually agree with. I can't deal with babies crying. Some say that the cry of a baby draws people in; it makes mothers want to go to them and comfort them. I have the opposite reaction. I hear a baby crying, I want to get far away from it. I don't think I'd be very good at perceiving a baby's needs. They wouldn't stop crying, I'd get impatient and frustrated. You can't reason with a crying infant, you have to find the off switch by guessing at which needs aren't being met. I wouldn't be able to deal with tantrums or an indignant child, but I feel like any child of mine would know better than to give me the business. Who knows, though? Who knows what I'd end up with? I was a good kid. Afraid of consequences, sensitive, obedient, for the most part, if not a little stubborn (ok, very stubborn). What if my kid was the exact opposite? What if no matter how much love I gave them, no matter how attentive I tried to be towards their needs, no matter how many lessons I tried to teach them, they ended up a little brat? A gigantic asshole? God forbid, a white supremacist or some other horrible thing? Sometimes people really do their best and still it doesn't matter.

I just. I don’t have those instincts towards babies. I really don’t. I wish I did, sometimes. But that’s just not how I was wired. They scare me too, possibly because of unfamiliarity, but more because I don’t have the energy or the money to be as good of a parent as I’d want to be for an infant. I do think I have maternal instincts though. I know I try to take good care of my rats and I love caring for them. Spoiling them, making sure they have what they need, making sure they're happy and healthy. I can't see myself ever not having pets. But by that same token... just thinking about it. I've been saying for a while now that I think my maternal instincts are misdirected towards animals instead of humans (ha ha), but I don't think that's actually true. My heart breaks for older children in the foster system-- older children being kids that aren't babies. Any child in the foster system, of course, but I’m more drawn personally to the older ones. Kids that have known abusive parents or never even knew who their parents were, kids that grew up in foster care, bouncing from place to place, knowing they don't really have a family. Children have a lot of needs growing up, and emotional needs are a big one that people sometimes overlook. Kids can get hurt, bad. They feel a lot of things, and deeply. I remember being a kid myself, and I was always one to feel things extraordinarily strongly. I remember dad got me two Polly Pocket sets for.. maybe my birthday one year. And I'd thrown out the little plastic insert that one of them was packaged with-- you know, just opening a box, discarding the packaging. And I realized later that the insert would've been perfect for keeping the little rubber doll pieces organized, and the regret over having thrown it out hurt so bad I cried. Like... kids are growing and they're complicated and I can't even imagine having that made harder by parents or lack thereof. Knowing that kids are growing up in those conditions makes me want to take them in. Like my friend’s family, who’s taken in a whole bunch of foster kids and adopted them all. I'd want to bring a child home, and let them know that this is their home and would always be their home. Give them some stability on a fundamental level. Show them love they may not have received yet. Do their hair, have little makeover days, movie nights, game nights, craft nights. Surprise them with things they like, watch their face light up knowing they're listened to and cared about. Listen to them talk about their interests, try to guide them towards things that make them happy; spark that interest and let them explore and grow; not try to mold them any way I think they should be. Help them with homework, work through problems together, because lord knows I'd probably struggle with some of them too. Hope they'd trust me enough to come to me with emotional issues-- not like how I could never talk to my mom about boys. Try to help them heal from whatever trauma they may have experienced. I don't know how I'd handle behavioral issues, if that were to happen, but I know the best course of action is educating myself and trying to be understanding. I do think I'd be a good mother. Just not to an infant, lmao When I was still in school, I'd let my rats run around my apartment during playtime. I'd leave my plastic shopping bags on the floor in the kitchen once I'd put groceries away, because I knew Jay liked to hoard them under my couch. And sometimes I'd take my phone flashlight and look around under there at the mess he made. I wouldn't touch it (until cleaning day came, usually, or unless there was a receipt I realized I needed). I'd just look at the organized chaos his little rat brain told him to create. I was witnessing the physical manifestation of his personality-- something he created himself. He put those bags right where he wanted them, and I could hear him rustling around down there sometimes, arranging them how he liked. He would grab mouthfuls of food and stash them in piles under the couch too, in specific places. I think I'd be the type of person to do the same for a child. I couldn't ever tell them what to do or how to be, necessarily. I'm sure I'd just marvel at anything they created; anything their mind produced. I'd want to know them for them, and love them just the same, even if they were nothing like me. Hell, I'd probably be happy if they were nothing like me (in some regards). Reminds me of that scene from Ladybird. I just. I wish that you liked me. Of course I love you. But do you like me? I want you to be the very best version of yourself that you can be. But what if this is the best version? Parks & Rec: I love you and I like you. One day I'll be able to say that. I hope.

#don't know what prompted this one #maybe tv; maybe some posts I scrolled past #I need to learn to be more honest with myself #stop drawing such hard lines #especially where none need to be drawn #it always seems like 'all or none' with this kind of thing #either you want them or you don't-- at all-- ever #but that's just not the way it is sometimes #I'm learning to acknowledge that and the fact that it's okay to feel like this #mostly just relieved that there are people that are WAY bigger assholes about it #people that think they're better than others because they don't have kids.... need to shut the fuck up lmao #cool if it's not the thing for you but maybe cool your jets about other people's choices #and the fact that-- yes-- sometimes other people's choices in that regard will encroach upon your lifestyle #like I can't wait to never be pregnant or have to deal with an infant #but I........ actually think I could one day do the mom thing #I could definitely see it as enriching and a positive addition to my life #and hopefully equally as if not more beneficial for the kid #girl's got a heart after all

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