Marriage Conversation

“can you not put the bloodworms on top of my food?”
“the other freezer?”
“no, just any shelf where there isn’t food.”
“Also, while we’re on the topic of things I shouldn’t have to say, can you not put the bathroom chemical cleaner spray bottle next to my pads and the toilet paper? Thanks.”
All the while, he’s laughing because I am just hilarious in my delivery of everything.

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I’m Grace and only 60% fulfilled.

It’s little things like not “allowing” me to get the pastries I want at Costco. Or never having actually proposed. Or being ridiculous about a vasectomy, even though we already decided to not have children. Or every single time he gets himself something from the kitchen and doesn’t ask if I need anything. Not to mention the lack of passion and feeling talk and all those other things I used to think I needed.

That episode of Will and Grace last night got to me.

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Why I’m an atheist.

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This was never meant to be a manifesto or really anything of real importance. I saw someone post on Reddit and thought I’d do the same here.

I attended private Catholic school from kindergarten through the twelfth grade. Around seventh or eighth grade, I started entertaining the idea that all the things they were forcing down our throats was bullshit. I told my mother, which resulted in several fights, warnings not to tell my grandmother, disappointment, and finally “you’ll go to church every Sunday until you’re 16.” I asked if I could please go to a different school–stop paying all this money–but she touted “discipline,” “better education,” and  “social image.” She asked if I could stand just going and telling them what they wanted to hear for the next 4 more years. She tried to tell me I’d never survive in public school. She was never even particularly that religious, but her mother was still a “fear of God” type lady who’d pray for you every night and Gramma was deeply embedded in our daily lives.

I’ve been involved in three sacraments; baptism, first communion, and confirmation. My mother begged me to be confirmed in case I wanted to be married in a church. I told her this wouldn’t be an issue and explained how being forced into it was really missing the point, but I ended up doing it anyway–for Gramma. (I ended up getting married in Vegas, so I was right.)

Fear of mothers, fear of God, fear of image, fear of nothingness.

Now I’m agnostic and reading every religious text, thinking I have to fill a hole, find a new religion, a new outlook, a new set of beliefs.

I went to college for Psychology, a Science. I believe in Science. I believe in myself as my god. I believe in biology. I believe that religion and an afterlife is a way to appease those who can’t handle the idea that we just die and there’s nothing else. We don’t see our family or friends who’ve gone before us. That’s all. For some reason, we have to trick ourselves into treating each other well with the promise of some reward–it can’t be just because.

I would love love LOVE if there were ghosts and I wish I had a guardian angel–that would kick ass. I hope I am wrong and there’s a heaven and a hell or something, but I just know there’s not.

I watched my Gramma die. I felt her go. The human body shuts down, with hearing going last, while the brain releases massive amounts of DMT. The chemical being released into the brain may make it seem like an eternity or a reincarnation or an afterlife with stored memories of loved ones and subconscious ramblings, but it’s all in your head.

I don’t feel I need to mention all the bad things that happen to people in the world. Or why two of my old friends killed themselves because of their own traumatic sadnesses. Who would do these things to people? This is not a test; it’s torture.

So I made up my own set of beliefs taking only the good parts found in every religion (which all start to sound very similar). I do believe in the soul, but that it’s more of a personality, self-actualized part of yourself, your moral compass, your core beliefs. I can get into a religious debate with you–I have the knowledge and the experience–I’d just really rather not make you look like an asshole. I’ll be good and nice to people and not rape babies or eat puppies AND it’s not because someone specifically told me to. It’s because I’m not a fucking monster and I have common sense and a natural empathy for my fellow man. I just no longer need a set of rules to make me behave.

I’m an adult now.

I do still expect Christmas presents though–I don’t give a shit. 

 

 

 

I’m Always Pissing People Off

Today I got kicked out of my (very small) city’s Facebook group after a bunch of angry women reprimanded me like a child.

I mistakenly had tried to start a conversation as a comment to a woman’s recommendation for a place to get your infant’s ears pierced cheaply and easily. I merely said “Or you can wait until the kid’s old enough…blah blah blah” never saying anything personal or “you’re a stupid asshole for doing this,” but these women still went APESHIT in a “don’t tell me how to raise my child” kind of way. I got my ears pierced when I was 8 years old because my mother thinks it’s cruel to pierce an infant’s ears and I agree.

Trying to explain myself only made things worse. I went temporarily blind when some bitch in the group started a post to me with, “Look, you’re new here, so…” as I had just recently joined the group, though have lived in the city forever. These were 40 something bullies who couldn’t understand the notion of an alternative viewpoint. Bitches must’ve never taken debate.

So, they kicked me out of the group.  Good thing they didn’t know I have no children!

Kinda felt like the time my high school French teacher told me I “wasn’t really (school’s name) material.”

I guess I have a habit of pissing people off. Many years ago, my aunt sent me a chain letter bashing Muslims. Well, her sister married a man from Iran, from which they produced 3 children, her nieces and nephew, my siblings. Yet, when I pointed this out to her and asked why she would send that to me when my family, her family, is of Muslim descent, I ended up being the one in the wrong and am the reason she doesn’t talk to my family any longer.

I had several of these old shitty friends or boyfriends who, upon me asking for my belongings back at the end of a relationship, would inevitably either destroy them or make a huge deal about how petty I was wanting my things back. How dare I? Well, here’s every other thing back that you ever gave me because we live in a soap opera full of crafted trash.

When I got married, there was this one time my in-laws were staying with us for way too long and on the very last day of their visit, I lost my patience when his dad starting saying something racist. I said something and he responded to me with “You are wrong!” in a bellowing voice, like my father, in my own home. I went inside and did not see them off. The next day, I wrote his mom a letter to explain my feelings about the situation and what had happened. Now his parents hate me. And then they had to find out we were already married! Eloped in Vegas, just like she told us not to. Oh, and we’re not having children. So much hatred now.

Finally, when my Gramma died in 2016 and my 3 cousins could actually live with themselves to say nothing to their grandfather about his wife dying, I wrote them a letter. It was mainly addressed to my one cousin who is 5 months older than me, but as the eldest, she has a certain responsibility. I told them how shitty it was of them and how they’re shitty family anyway. They ran and told their mommy on me (aunt from prior story).

Other aunt, “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.”

I’m an adult. They’re adults. I can do whatever I want. Eat my butt.

Now, I tell everyone when they piss me off. “Fuck you, and here’s why…”

I do it matter of factly. Here is why you suck. This is what you did. This is how I feel. Like a robot.

And here is why I have no friends.

But when I had friends, I was a pushover, piece of shit, doormat who everyone used.

Quite the conundrum.

 

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