I can kind of see where the obsession with genealogy can start; one starts with oneself. Why am I like this? Genetics? It's genetics isn't it? And then casting your net wider and wider. Wondering how those people got from this place to that place. The questions pile up. And there aren't really any answers. Even if there were, what does it actually matter? Right?
- How come my ancestors were Finn, but somehow not integrate any Slavic or Russian DNA?
- If we assume colonialism is how I have North African (Egyptian?) and Malayali DNA, what's the story with that?
- Or is it actually some sort of Romani thing?
- Probably not, but I do have almost 10% of my DNA categorized as "broadly Northwestern European", so what's up with that?
- The side of the family with Indigenous Mexican ancestry shares the North African and Malayali ancestry. What does that mean?
I always used to say that I'm from the island of white people, and now I can get a little bit more specific about which recessive genes are fighting for their lives in my features and melanin. And I suppose I can just put it down and consider that my original sense that my ancestors were probably BAMFs (and not in a good way) might be true. But I somehow do not have any Spanish or Portuguese, and that is somewhat reassuring. Because: conquistadors.
...this isn't what I thought I was going to write about today. But I am post-workout and chipping away at chores in a round and enjoying the silence/podcasts about medieval life. Today is thrift shop day which is somewhat thrilling. I swept out the Secret Attic yesterday, disposing of many many mosquito cadavers (why? Just...why mosquitos only? Why so many?) in the process and pulled out a shit ton of things to take to Fashion Pact and/or Value Village.
Our dumpster is full but not yet hauled away; I successfully cancelled the Old Internet (I think?) and next weekend is supposed to be The Fence-ening. My dad is quite excited about that. There's little he loves more than...fences.
Nothing more to report so far today; maybe tomorrow the tales of interest will be more plentiful. In the meantime imagine: L's first (and maybe last) violin lesson, a playdate with a young Gene Wilder (swear to god this kid is the spitting image; and temperament) and unfucking all the many Things I had in my car during summer because to be a Home Health pediatric OT is to have a lot of shit in your car.
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