I come from a long line of very underwhelming and unimportant people. All my friends at school have cool stories about their grandfathers and fighting in great wars, being hero’s or inventing things off of the original McDonalds menu. My grandfather lost his leg due to an illness he had when he was younger and my grandmother was a seamstress. Pretty ordinary people. Their parents came to the United States when it became the “hip” thing to do, so, like any other decision my ancestors made, the choice to get on a boat and move to the new land was just following the crowd. They weren’t brave enough to come before the United States broke off from the United Kingdom, and weren’t quite loyal enough to stay in England. Anything before my great-grandparents becomes kind of hazy and even less interesting. I share no blood with the Royal Family and do not come from a line of men who sparked the English awakening.
So it’s no surprise I am an underwhelming and unimportant person myself. In my defense, however, I blame my ancestors. It must run through my DNA. I graduated high school and went to a state school most people can get into. Decided to study Literature because I like to read, and surprise, surprise I am currently unemployed and living with parents in Suburbia, USA, ruining their empty nester’s stage in life. My inspiration withers away in my childhood room while trying to maintain a healthy balance between spending time with my folks and giving them space from my moping is a daily struggle. It’s also no surprise Allison left me after graduation. It’s no surprise she is in New York, working on set for a big movie. Her ancestors must be Shakespeare and some Nordic royalty. Through her veins must run the genetic code for being successful and determined, to be known and heard just like her family in the past. So, basically, I blame all my problems on my ancestors… Something I’m sure they would have done too.