Honestly, it's hard to be concerned about global politics, the meaning of life or even simply reading when you have your firstborn on the way. Logically I have accepted the fact that I am going to have a child. But in reality, I just can't get my arms around the concept. I understand that my father had a son which turned out to be my brother. And then he had another son which turned out to be me. I understand the concept of sonship. Daughtership I comprehend, but have no real firsthand experience with the concept. I even look at Emily's belly and know that there is a real human being in the process of being formed even as I sleep next to her and dream about robbing houses in France and running through factories in my underwear.

I see all of this happening in front of me and around me. I even find my own belly growing before my eyes. However I really cannot fathom the actuality of having a son or daughter to care for and raise. What a mystery this all is. I even got really drunk the other night and felt horrible. I realize that those days are over for me. I no longer have just my body to flail around and do with as I please. My body is not my own.

I can't keep up with y'all. Lacan, Zizec, Baudilaire, whoever the flip. None of it is important to me. My heart isn't in it. I suppose I'll never get past Kierkegaard and I think that's o.k. Eventually I'll finish Works of Love, even if it takes me 'til I'm 50. In the meantime, I'll content myself with drinking a beer on my porch, flipping through the most recent issue of National Geographic or Harper's and wondering if I'll be living at this house long enough to see my child playing in the front yard and hiding in the bushes. That's not so bad really.