Writes..."IDK"

"she said she was carrying my baby; not sure how far along she was, just sure that she was pregnant and that it was mine. not just sure; a 1,000 percent sure? surprised? yeah, me too. not that she was pregnant; we're both consenting adults in a consensual "relationship", so it was definitely possible. it was the fact that she used that line on me; that she actually said that shit and we ain't even hit the point where such hyperbole will cause her the humiliation of sprinting off the stage at the "maury" show yet. 1,000 percent?! come on man, there was a reason i used quotation marks when i wrote the "relationship". so i probably would've started with a number a little smaller. and at least trying to save myself the potential future embarrassment in front of a national audience. but whatever, "i am 1,000 percent sure that you, brian wilson, are the father of my unborn baby" were her exact words. so all i can say is she better be right. i guess i'll know if she still that "1,000 percent" confidence if she decides to pack a pair comfortable running shoes for the trip, preferably the pink ones because then at least she could use her fifteen minutes of fame promoting breast cancer awareness.

except we aren't going to be on television because this isn't really happening; it's a dream...though i don't dream anymore. i close my eyes to re-live the same nightmare every night. she tells me we need to talk and we decide to meet up later that day where she informs that she's having my baby. no, sorry, what she actually said was that she was pregnant with my baby; the word "having" never comes out of her mouth. she asks me what i want her to do; that there are options we need to consider. i ask her what options she's referring to; my thoughts have always been "if you're pregnant, you deliver". everybody that knows me knows how i feel about kids and how my plan is to eventually have my own family. and she knows me so i can't figure out why she thinks this is multiple choice for me. but then i figure it out, she's just offering me lip service; like a mother who asks her child what they want to eat after she's already taken out the bread and the "jiff". what'll be will be because of what she wants it to be; not because of any input i offer her. so apparently dinner is pb and j sandwiches; whether i want them or not.

like i said, i don't dream anymore. every night i close my eyes to beg for the life of my unborn child."