Blinded, Truly, By Bliss

"Blinded, truly, by bliss."

--On Married with Children, email meant for Morpheus

NO one asked me what I wanted because--of course--what I wanted came exactly last. IF you were to ask me, I would demand for all parties to be content, and I can no longer naively assume that Morpheus would be happy with me.

I wrote him an email that he may never receive over a sore holiday for many reasons.

I will never have children. I wish there would have been a mistake when mistakes could have been made. Now I don't even ovulate. I have a disease that breathes too close to schizophrenia for my liking. Can I hold a daughter who is in the grasp of voices and delusions? Would I dare to play Russian Roulette and take the off chance that she is born perfect and wait until eighteen sets to see if depression rises? Neurotically peer over her shoulder as she goes to college, knowing the statistics on likelihood of developing a psychiatric disorder, hoping against odds she doesn't crumble or zoom into mania?

A mistake, I mean, with him. I dare write this not in an email for surely the man needs no more surprises, and it's not worth it. He cut his balls, and I don't cycle.

MOther's DAy is sad, a reminder of the events in life I will never go through for myself.