I can’t do ANY math beyond addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division — and can BARELY do those.
I can’t drive a stick shift.
I can’t figure out how to turn on any of our televisions, so I only watch them when Gregory or Hunter are home to roll their eyes, pat me on the head, and do it for me.
I can’t fill out complicated paperwork, which is why I never went to college. Okay, and maybe also because I never graduated from high school.
I can’t balance a checkbook.
I can’t file a tax return.
I couldn’t ride a bike until I was 11.
I couldn’t tell time until I was 13.
I can’t walk barefoot inside my own house, much less outside. EVER.
I can’t go much more than about 20 minutes without washing my hands. It’s not a germ thing; it’s a tactile thing.
I can’t play any sport. None at all.
I can’t read TS Eliot’s, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” without weeping.
There is SO much that I cannot do in this life. SO SO MUCH. This meager list is just the beginning.
But, FUCK ALL THAT…because here’s what I CAN do:
I CAN MAKE FIERCE BABIES.