Some toys are better left in the sack. I’m not one to be played with. Only my father wants to toy around and my Ma had two C-Sections to bring me and my sister into being. Now I’ve been asked… commanded home for Christmas. B Happier There Virgil
Tuesday, December 24, 2024
Meditation 176 ~B Happier There Virgil~
Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? It’s not even a question; it’s a fact. And since comedy comes in threes, well…
One, anytime I’m *feeling super, super (super!) suicidal*, my father, son, or the old Day Job is the cause. And if you’re asking about this morning, the winner… father, obviously.
Two, I have said often enough that fatherhood is the epitome of manhood. However, I look at my father, I will look up mine eyes unto the hills, and I see men of the cloth…
Disgustingly, I wanted to be a father. And no, not a priest. I mean a red-blooded man with you, our children, a home. I’m a greedy S.O.B., but that’s the crux: I want a family.
Ironically, I sit here with you at precisely 8:56 AM, and I am ready to throw it all away and join my firstborn son, Braxton.
I wondered what I would say to you this Christmas Eve morning, and now I am crying my heart out. And for once, I’m not shedding tears about my firstborn son, B III. But myself.
I couldn’t care less about Santa Claus, Satan, or the snake oil salesman about to take our country. Father Christmas, the Father of evil, what would the Founding Fathers think.
Today, I only worry about the man in the mirror. The man you chose to be your husband, my love. And I think about all I’ve done for him, you, and our family. I wanted to show him the life I wanted to give. And now I want you to have that “When I’m Gone.”
Overdramatic. Gee Whiz, It’s Christmas!
It will be tomorrow, and there’s no comfort or joy. Happiness? I will take what we have this very second over anything that will happen tomorrow. Merry Christmas, indeed. Eff!
I was not asked or assuaged into this and cannot abdicate it. I may be getting the hang of this St. Nick thing. Because what started as a favor, an act of mercy, a kindness…
Christmas is now a command, a con job, the call for an execution of self. It’s the annihilation of the individual, to become a nonexistent person, vaporized, driven from society. ROOM 101! I’m not going home; I’m headed to the gallows. Death is your gift.
Yeah, if you’re my father. Because this Christmas, wherever Braxton is… B Happier There Virgil
1423 Days Without B III, Day 864 of Virgil’s Arrival
B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will