Monday, March 6, 2017

Just Call Me Diogenes and Hand Me a Lantern

My family doesn't have as many generations as some. They often married late on my mother's side, leading to an interesting conundrum: my grandparents were both born in the Victorian Era. Their parents were getting on a bit in age when they were born. There are fewer generations between me and my ancestor Philip Lightfoot, who fought in the American Revolution, than there are for the majority of people my age.

I'm a walking anachronism. My parents were children of the Great Depression, and my mother, of course, was raised by two Southerners of Victorian vintage. My ideas of honor, family, relationships, et cetera, are informed by older value systems.

It puts me at a disadvantage.

On top of being over-educated and physically unattractive (read:fat...I might as well be bright purple and have three heads), I have unreasonable (apparently) expectations about truthfulness, fidelity, and other little things like that. I'm probably going to be single until I die as a result.

Also, God help me to not ever have another man accuse me of cheating on him as long as I shall live- because I am not, have not, and will not, EVER -and use it as a justification for committing infidelity on his part. I'm not wired that way.

I guess I'm not pretty, young, or thin enough to reasonably expect to be treated with respect or dignity. I've been made to feel like an alien for having this seemingly unreasonable expectation.

What ever happened to dealing with comes next, after the shine is off the apple? People are disposable, or at least I am...or that's how it feels.

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