"Don't you want kids?" "No thanks, I just ate."

I just turned 31 years old. When I look back on my life thus far, "successful" and "fulfilled" are not words that jump readily to mind. Having slogged through my twenties suffering with undiagnosed, untreated mental illness, I waffled on many decisions that would affect the rest of my life and as a result I missed many opportunities. I realize that the window of time to rectify all this will close eventually, and I'm dealing with this to the best of my ability. But there is one major life decision with such a finite timeline that I made years ago with no second thoughts: not having kids.

Y Kant Katt Read?

I am a writer, obviously. That is, if you can suspend disbelief for a minute and accept that the title also encompasses half-assed bloggers who only write when they have something to bitch about. And I have always thought I am a decent writer, when I actually apply myself. But the truth is, there are a lot of folks out there who would laugh me right out of cyberspace for even thinking something so ludicrous. Why? Because I don't like to read.

Burn them smart-ass books.