Impulsivecompulsive's Where The Fuck Is My Blog Edition

Because: Where the fuck is my blog? Somehow, Forbidden 403, is doing nothing for me. So instead, I'll watch ER.
Yeah, I still watch ER. I know that the good stuff went out with Dr. Green, and whomever the fuck George Clooney played, I don't care.
Because sometimes things aren't meant to be taken at face value. Face value, in itself, is a self-defeating term. The notion of face insinuates something deeper. Under the face, we have bone, then marrow, then synopsis, some form of entity, within that, personality, and within it all, some form of spirit. Therefore, face value encompasses everything that we can never really understand, and includes everything that makes up the rest of life. All the voids that will never be filled. There is no such thing as face value, it's merely a means of dummying down the world to child like simplicity in the hopes that false belief in understanding will make us sleep easier at night.
And that there's my reason for not accepting face value. And maybe not my reason for watching ER, but my reason for finding deeper meaning within a show that, in all honesty, kind of sucks.
So tonight, we talk about ER. Exciting, no?
Anyway, that doctor who may or may not be chief of staff, with the hip problem, and the son named Harry, she's getting hip replacement surgery, which she's been putting off for a while now. Turns out she's been putting it off because of her fear of leaving her son without a legal guardian, should things go wrong....
And Ohhhh!!! There it goes! That's called touching a nerve right there, folks.

My daughter has a guardian. A semi-legal, hopefully not to be contested guardian, should I die. But semi-legal doesn't guarantee anything, and chances are I should have followed the advice of my lawyer (a.k.a. friends wife) and gotten that shit written up properly, and notarized. And yet, since we've had that meeting (a.k.a. long and boring intercontinental flight, post-hostess induced end to poker tournament) I haven't done squat to that old will of mine.

The Ex.

Well, you're wrong.

The Ex wouldn't contest shit. Chances are, The Ex would have no idea if I should die, and that's one thing we finally agreed on. He lives his life, hopefully far from here, and we'll live ours. Someday, he'll be ready for a family, and he'll find himself a bright eyed, sweet girl, with a heart of gold that she just wishes someone would see. He'll see it, and be enamoured of the fact that she's enamoured of the fact that he's paying attention to her. They'll have 2.6 kids, and live happily ever after, with yellow paisley curtains and a cocker spaniel named Joe. And that's okay, because no matter how much he disgusts me, somewhere out there is someone who could bring out the best in him, and they will be happy, and he will be a better person for it.

The Family.

My mother once told me a story about how she wanted to find what was in the middle of the onion. She peeled back the layers, one by one, until nothing was left. Thus it became clear that there was nothing in the middle of this onion.
This would have been a good story, if she'd meant it as a metaphor, but she didn't. She was honestly amused at the fact that she thought there ought to be something in the onion. There's also the possibility that she never actually peeled back that onion, and that was merely a story she'd read in college, shortly before her breakdown, then incorporated into later memories as one of her own.
Had that story really been a metaphor, it would have applied well to my family. At it's core, we don't amount to much. But if you add those layers, it's history making, fuck, history breaking shit. Add a couple of step-parents, dragging ten new siblings, reproduce to throw some additional grandkids/kids/nieces into the mix, and don't forget the cousins, and it goes on.
However you do the math, I have mucho mucho family, some closer, some more distant. And strong family ties, the bane of anyone from a large family. And within my family, I have some amazing people. Scratch that, a hell of a lot of amazing people. My stepsister was dispatcher during the first dog rescue of avalanche victims that survived. Next stepsister: junior b boys hockey at the age of fifteen. Stepbrothers: army (medic), model, and nuclear physicist (but pacifist, only uses his powers for good). Moving on; chief of staff, silicone valley lawyer, olympic level long distance runner, (provincially) acclaimed artist, first engineer to introduce wind power to Saskatchewan, girl who, at the age of fourteen, organized and hosted a profitable punk show. The rest are all dentists, socially active lawyers, doctors, or socially active government officials.

But they're not here. And I'm not there. And neither is my daughter.

I don't doubt my potential as a parent, although there's nothing then I want more than to take her on a road trip Back Home. I wish she could see what we can be, not as us, but as people. What some people take for granted.

When it comes down to it, I'm terrified of dying. I know, we all are, but there's something to be said for those new studies that are coming out. You know the ones, where they compare a fetus to a parasite, feeding off its host, unable to survive without it?
What those studies forget to mention is that it doesn't go away after a child is born. I've had a good life, and a bad life, and an in between life, but it's been mine. Should I, on my own, die, that would be a loss, but every life comes to an end at it's given time.
Add The Kid to the equation, and everything changes. The continuation of my life goes from a want to a need. The idea that I could die before she's ready for me to die infuriates me. There is nothing I can do for her. There is no way I could make this okay. I can't ask people who I haven't seen for years to take on a new child, and I can't justify sending her to complete strangers in the most difficult time of her childhood.
So should I die, my daughter would go to a close friend. One who's grown with me, worked as my "nanny" for a time, knows my daughter, and knows how I would want her raised.

And isn't my family. Doesn't know my family. Should I die, would likely end up fighting that same family in court, for the custody of my daughter.

The only thing holding my daughter to my world is me. And that's a pretty thin thread to hang her life on. Yet there's nothing I can do about it, other than hope like hell that I don't die. Once I'm gone, I haven't only lost my life, I've lost the entire history of my child. Her past, her links, her ties, things I haven't even introduced to her. But there's never enough time, never enough money. There's so much out there that she could build on, but there's no guarantees that I'll be able to give that to her, and that scares the shit out of me.

There's no ending here. This is it.