Thrift

Thoughts about the genetic kin taking on the distinct sense of acedemic distance. Deep history. Strangely interesting, no longer important to my daily life, no longer in my heart.

I sought the truth, it wasn't that bad.

Oh, bad enough, just not dreadful. Like that oh so fascinating thrift shop, that seems to hold treasures and menace. Once entered is simply musty and crowded, with a cranky owner, spider webs and dust, and lots of junk from not that long ago. Maybe I'll stop by on a rainy day because of boredom, expecting nothing at all. An absence rather than an aggressive hostility. A culpable lack of parental love, disinterest, contempt. Nothing to be returned, though.

Thinking about my parents' persistent negativity. I started hiding from my mother as I realized how much of what I liked were subjects of criticism of other people. From color preference, to use of dishwashers, to attitudes on abortion, others were foolish, wasteful or downright sinful. Having no intention of changing my tastes or opinions, I pretended agreement, or stayed silent. And have done for upwards of forty years. Having always refrained from voicing preferences for anything she has degraded, there is no remaining desire to fight that long dead battle. Let her think she's won. I will wear dark purple, with red all over my home. My dishwasher is a treasure, as is the AC in the summer, and I drink beer, and swear, whenever I damn well want.

And I think abortion is a medical decision that politics and religion need to keep their fucking noses out of. For the vast majority of my life, if I'd had a time machine and could force my mother to abort me rather than put me through my life (until I met D) I'd have done it in a heartbeat. I will pugnaciously call myself PRO-abortion, given provocation. No child should have to be born unwanted. Recycle the unwanted, until they get conceived by a decent set of parents. Anything else is hardline rhetoric, which never raised a child lovingly.

I get a little bulldoggish about children, even as I don't like them around much. I want them cared for, and I will protect them with vigor, and I have nothing but contempt for neglectful, lazy-ass parents. Perhaps as I do any vulnerable living creature. That I have no feel for them just means I don't pretend around them, don't get chummy. Hurting them, though, that is down to fundamental character flaw. Neither of my parents could manage the Do No Harm clause of doctors. Seems to me, that should be a vow every parent takes. First - do no harm. Basic. Like providing food and not beating.

I am free now, I know this. No one will try to contact me again. It's all in my hands, and I drop the rope. There.


Found four different wine glasses at the local church thrift shop. I do like some variety in my dishes. Will do nicely for beer or ginger ale or sparkling cider, very festive.