mercoledì, maggio 06, 2015

On being a cunt

I suspect family problems are self-perpetuating. (Look at the fucking wealth of privilege in that sentence! Shows you how many family problems I've had . . . ) I suspect when people are at a point where they're able to be really furious with the people who they emotionally know should be the ones they're closest to in the world, they have to search for reasons why they're right about why the other person is such a cunt . . .

Readers, this may be a shocking degree of self-unawareness, but I'm always sort of shocked when people think I'm a cunt. I try to squelch down my more cockroach-y thoughts, or else save them for this blog. This may sound like bigging myself up but I honestly don't think I'm a cunt, not these days anyways . . . and I'm sort of sad and surprised that my in-laws think I am. But maybe not as surprised as I would have expected myself to be. Things are so glum on that score at the moment - really quite bleak - that I guess they need an explanation as to why, and the pinko foreign wench poisoning the minds of their menfolk is as good an explanation as anything.

You know what . . . oh well. That's my first reaction, anyways - which is a sort of reflexive participation in this self-perpetuation of family troubles getting worse. These are people you may have noticed I don't have much time for, and when I get offended by being disliked or scapegoated by them, it's perilously easy to think through all the ways I really, really don't have time for them. But I just have to not do that. These are the F-word's people, and Godzilla's too, and I can't contribute to an alienation there. I don't even feel right sitting back and letting them create that alienation all on their own, which fuck me they are doing a good job of.

But I will thank the good Lord that they are on the other side of the planet.