Permit me to share some deep blonde thoughts on time travel.
Imagine writing a story where you change a character’s choices so that the outcome wouldn’t include your own birth.
What if? What if?
This could come from existential anxiety, lapsed Catholicguilt or continued disgust over religious views about birth control.
At times I wish my Mother had a happier life with less poverty and mental health strain. Would I be willing to forfeit my own existence if she and her humble carpenter husband had the courage to defy church rules? I remember her stories about attending mass with a batch of clean but raggedly dressed offspring and observing other couples with their one or two well-attired children in their pews.
During sentimental moments, I wish I could travel back in time to help her.
Of course, we know time travel doesn’t exist else some crazy genius would have done this by now to prevent world wars, horrific abuses on…
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