It's my birthday today, she says.

Happy Birthday I reply, only to have her profess her intention to kill herself.

She is twenty nine.

No Job, No Health Care, No Husband, No Child, No Car, going crazy. Quite literally.

I tell her what a stupid idea it is and I run a large gambit of an argument against suicide, not because I know her life will turn out for the best but because it is depressing to know she would cease to live.

I can fix this really easily, she says, and you can help.

How, I say?

Knock me up, she says, then I can get on welfare and get the medical attention I need.

Why can't you get the attention you need now, I ask?

She says she goes into the ER and they send her home because the tests they need have to be run by a private doctor she can't afford. They send her home with an anxiety attack.

She has no sense of priorities. She sells her car and her books and everything else to maintain an internet connection. She cannot hold down a job. She does not like having more than one person talk to her at once because it makes her break down in tears crying.

I long for the sleep of the Wicked. That sleep which is unconcerned with the plight of fellow man. That sleep which disregards reality and allows the wicked to fall into that comfortable euphoria that is sleep.

I do not know how to respond to such a thing. All of the desperation and depravity around me makes me insane. This is her solution and I do not like it. I do not like the idea of a child I cannot support, that she can probably not support either, being born and wondering where Daddy is, why Mommy can't get a job. She says it would give her a pourpose in life but she does not seem to be able to find one outside of her solution. It is a bad idea. She is only looking for a gamete supplier.

I cannot think of a way to convince her of herself.

It seems the only way she wishes to exist is vicariously through her, as of yet, unexistant child. I could not support the child if it were dumped on me. I could not go to college were I confronted with such a responsibility. It is an unfair request she had made of me. A faustian bargain. In essence, something she could turn into her life for mine.

Such a decision inevitably confronts one with his own mortality, but I can avoid such thoughts. She cannot support herself, how can she support the child? Welfare. How would I get to St. Louis? Greyhound. No. This is a bad idea. "But I am a miserable, useless wretch." she argues. I am not qualified to comment on her usefulness or lack thereof. What can you really use as a moral compass in such a situation?

What would Jesus do? What would DMan do? What does the bible say? What would my parents say? What would my child think? Would it even be my child? Who would be the real father, other than me? How can I even consider making such a decision? Is it immoral for me to deny such a request?

This is the future, the end of days. This is the post apocylaptic steampunk universe we have crawled into. The depths of the cities and the farms alike. The world where no man dare tread for he would be unlikely to return. Yes, this is indeed hell we have created in America.