Day 49. 63 pages, 31,090 words.                       

Today is Mothers’ Day, so I should be writing an affectionate and admiring salute to Mrs. Hatboy and my dear old mum over in Australia, not to mention my amazing anoppi, my long-suffering sister-in-law Bella, and my beloved sister Clare who has long been my role model when it comes to dragging normal, well-adjusted and brilliant kids kicking and screaming into a world so profoundly and utterly broken.

So I guess I’ll do that, a little bit. I’ve got time.

Happy Mothers’ Day, to any and all of you who have brought a life into being, either biologically or adoptively. I’m told gestating a child is hard and I’m certainly not about to argue with that, and let nobody ever doubt my admiration for the hardship. But successfully producing a viable organism, and shaping a life, are two very different animals. One, for example, is just an animal.

Raising a human being is … it’s a forever type of thing. And if you’re doing it, you are a goddamn hero.

You’re polishing an evolutionary and genetic turd, and you have to know that by now, but you never stop for a single minute. You are fucking unbelievable. Gender equality and sensitivity be damned – if we make it to the next decade, let alone the next century, it will be because of mothers, and in spite of fathers.

Thank you all.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
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