Thirty Somethings...Thing 7

Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.

The 'for' is superfluous and confusing in my opinion, so I'm striking it. There is a time and a place to end a sentence with a preposition. But, I don't know why they put one there for. Heh. I think I just proved the aforementioned 'for' superfluous but I'm too lazy to show you the algorithm. That was bugging me. I feel better now. Moving along...

Pretentious Asshole vs. Heartfelt Post Material

And the winner is...you be the judge.

The response to this one might seem obvious, and I suppose I could forgo the risk of sounding like a selfish asshole, but I'm feeling contrary today, so Potential Asshole Reputation, or worse, Fucked Up Mother of the Year, here I come.

My children? They do not make my life worth living.

Don't get me wrong, I'd give my life for theirs, if ever such an unfortunate circumstance called for it. I would, without a moment's hesitation, die if it meant either or both of them would be spared. Not a doubt.

I would also struggle to find a reason for living should the unspeakable happen to either one of them, or, even more unspeakably, both. Fuck. Most especially both. Goddamn, this is some jinx-loaded shit to unearth from the recesses of my mind that I know exists but pointedly ignore. I'm sleeping with everything crossed for a week to fend off the jinxes. Unless anyone out there has a better anti-jinx recipe.

But, that still does not mean they make my life worth living.

Let me rephrase the question and change the perspective a bit.

Whose life do I make worth living?

I hadn't even finished typing the question before I scrunched my nose and cringed. Ugh, no one. I've got enough on my hands without having to be someone's reason for living. That's on you, man. I don't want that kind of responsibility.

Right. And I'm old enough to vote and have frothy adult beverages and I'm well above forty pounds. I'll love you, but I don't want to be your life's worth. I hardly want to be the reason you decide to wear that shirt. You should wear it because you like it. And I'll notice how much more comfortable you are when you wear the one you like as opposed to how uncomfortable you are when you wear the one I like.

Does that make a little more sense? Z-Boy loves short hair on girls and hates tattoos. But he loves me more. And I have long hair and tattoos. He loves me when I'm most comfortably me. And likewise. Him and me. I even love that old Gwar shirt with the holes he wears. Because he's so HIM in it.

I live my life for me and I hope that in doing that, selfless little acts peppering the way, Zee and Bee will learn that it is not only okay but right to live their lives for them. It'd be super cool if the selfless acts followed, too. I'm seeing a hint of them, so I think I'm doing okay.

I do not ever want Zee or Bee to factor my pride or approval or disapproval into any major life decision. I'd hate for them to think, "Mom REALLY wants me to be the best President the United States ever saw, so I should probably forget my dreams of being a ballerina." Fuck that.

Zee and Bee? Whether your future involves a podium or tights, a wrench or a keyboard, a pen or a guitar, pennies or dollars...I hope you follow your dreams. I hope you find your life worth living. For you.

Meanwhile I'll be living my life for me. And hoping I did it right. And you take my lead.