I don't Exist

except in a book or perhaps in 19th century France or Italy. While driving home this morning, ears bleeding and in a fat-induced haze (a completely different story altogether), I finally came to the conclusion that the bundle of attributes of which I am concocted could only be found in the imagination of a writer or possibly in a person of a different century. Many of us labor under the uncomfortable suspicion that we have been born in the wrong century, the incorrect social "time" because we can't seem to fit in, to "groove" with the current sociopolitical milieu. And usually that is a case of being too lazy or stubborn or stupid or obtuse as opposed to truly a rare combination of attributes.

But...in MY case, it's true! Examing the facts we can only come to the conclusion that I am indeed a social misfit. Somone who has so many contradictory, archaic, sensitive and divine sensibilities that it makes it virtually impossible for me to be absorbed into the fold. I present:

1) Always been told I'm smart. Not just by family, not just by teachers, not just by the tests. But I excel at nothing. Work at the family post. Making "B's" in grad school, no famed literary achievements, no movie roles, no scientific awards, no immense brainiacal expellations. So what am I doing with all these smarts???

2) I am the most insanely naive person on the planet. After 40+ years of frustration, lying, abuse, deceit and general stinky behavior on the part of those with whom I interact, I still labor under the misconception that folks will act in a manner that is consistent with a wholesome and honest approach to life. I get burned by this every day. It blows. I am unrealistic and I am positively and absolutely unwilling to abandon my need to believe that we are all fundamentally good despite the mounting evidence to the contrary.

3) Chivalry and nicety should be a way of life not something we should have to read about in a book or see in a Merchant/Ivory movie and recall as "quaint". Sex is not the end-goal, but romance and passion are. Yes, I am the more delicate gender despite the fact that I am self-sufficient and can operate power tools. Just because I can, doesn't mean that I want to, ALL the time.

The list goes on but I think you can see where this is going. I feel like a jigsaw puzzle with some of the pieces missing and some of them jammed together just to try to get the damn thing finished - but the edges don't really match up. Just the other day I mentioned to some friends that what I really wanted to be when I grew up was an Italian goat farmer. They laughed. I was serious. I imagined myself on the lush hillsides of a small township in Italy, singing gaily to my goats as they munched yummy green grass, milking them for their fat-laden milk and then hand churning it into delicious goat cheese to sell at the local market or restaurants. Feeding my goats the finest herbs and flowers to effect a flavor to their milk and cheese that would be unparalleled. I've got it all planned. I'm a big chicken for not picking it all up and following my goaty dream. I could even learn to drive a moped.

Or maybe it's just the new medication.