I’d Rather Be Alone Than Assimilated

Assuming I am successful in my upcoming mission (because failure is not an option), I am exploring the possibilities of life without Axel but yet, with the resumption of my legal capacity to remarry, should I desire to have a relationship sanctified by the state (or should a future man so desire such with me for some unknown reason).

In my new home (assuming Axel’s final wishes for his live-in house slut are recognized by the courts), there are two seasons: Snowbird and Summer. Summer is not only lonely but economically depressed. Even the prices come down. Tradesmen who manage to survive generally do so by catering to the Snowbirds and then going into effective hibernation in the off season. Wouldn’t it be great if I could bag a combination Tradesman/Snowbird? Ha! I’d be willing to share him sort of like a human time-share with a northern woman. A woman willing to do such a thing with me would be quite the rare bird herself.

Axel’s death conjured up my blood sister supposedly to “help” me through this difficult time. She, it would seem, would like for me to believe that she has my best interests at heart in terms of reabsorbing me into the dysfunctional collective which is our family, and her female-supremacy notions of social order, “intelligence,” and truth. If I were to become destitute, I believe, she would be delighted to indenture me as her slave. Not that I resent her for the success she achieved with the aid of our parents as “the good daughter”, and which I would never have been able to fulfill because I am a lousy Dominatrix/prostitute, the notion of being financially dependent on her while pretending to agree with her on any subject whatsoever would be a fate for me worse than death. Our parents, on the other hand, should never have had more than one child given their social-climbing needs in relation to their income potential. They could only afford one if they thought they needed two as emotional blackmail in order to mooch off their own parents and use us as surrogates to prop up their dysfunctional marriage. Besides, I was supposed to marry “Prince Charming” and live happily ever after in that prison but for the social benefit of my parents. In other words, my sexually submissive nature was supposed to be put into the service of female supremacy to benefit better females than I. Fat chance.

Given that I don’t approve of my parents’ choice to reproduce once and certainly not twice, in a perfect world, I would either not exist or would have been somehow put up for adoption. Since I can remember, I’ve been attempting to be adopted in one way or another by a different family, that is, as different as possible from my own birth family in terms of psychology, beliefs, appearance, and inter-familial dynamics. Adults with happy childhoods or whose forgiveness of their family is fully transcendent are advised to seek similar families with which to meld. Meanwhile, becoming adopted by government would be as bad as being enslaved to my family, so that’s out. Ditto to be adopted by most allowed-to-expand mega-national corporations.

As a throwaway daughter, it is no surprise that I’ve been set upon by con artists, most especially my husband. However, given that there is now so little holding me to this world, I don’t predict that I’ll start engaging in less risky adventures for the benefit of other people’s notions of my own security. There is no security for women like me. That fate was sealed for me by all three of my immediate family members. Therefore there is no reason for me not to do what other women won’t and therefore I have no place in the Western female hive mind to include the well-meaning.

As I get older, and the pool of men who interest me contracts, while well-off divorcees/widows/surviving daughters effectively dictate social and legal policy, I become even more of a pariah than I was as a teenager. Feminism and liberalism becomes increasingly difficult for me to stomach. Popular culture becomes positively toxic. I become more and more “a stranger” to an enlarging pool. In short, my life experience is more like the average man, except I don’t have his physicality, rationality, or capability of productive output. This last is about biology not oppression.

Besides, if I were to return to being a career woman, my attractiveness to con artists will reignite. As a poor, middle aged woman, however, I am largely immune from con artists because the well is dry. However, merely appearing to be healthy and thereby “privileged” attracts them nonetheless. (How many male con artists prey on women for the purpose of enriching the nest of another woman to include his girlfriend, mother, wife, siblings, or daughters? Will the next one demand my hair on a platter?)

As an American citizen, however, with the ability to remarry, there’s an obvious asset I can exploit or that can be exploited by a foreigner looking for greener pastures.

Perhaps I can find myself a Foreign Snowbird. How to do so without becoming enslaved to his womenfolk who dictate the terms of all social connection? Perhaps he will have to be an Orphaned Foreign Snowbird.

One thought on “I’d Rather Be Alone Than Assimilated

  1. Pingback: I’d Rather Be Alone Than Assimilated | Manosphere.com

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