F*ck Fate

I don’t believe in luck, I believe in fate. If a person is supposed to win, they will win. If a thing is supposed to happen, it will happen. If it was meant to be, it will happen easy.

And here I am again, realizing the movie on TV is about siblings and legacy. So much for accidental streaming. Sometimes ghosts come through via paid subscription.

I didn’t realize I was not considered a valuable person until I found myself without an income.

And here, again, is another stupid movie about inheritance.

There is always at least one sibling who wants to take the money and run. There is always, usually just, one who wants to keep a thing because it was an important thing to the person who died.

I know which sibling I am. I have nightmares about it.

What is funny, in a not funny way, is the legacy I will leave my children (should I die today) will make the monetary leavings of my parents- look small.

Here I am, with .44 cents in my purse, $5 in my savings account and a pissy fucking attitude and I will be leaving behind three times as much money as my parents did and a house worth ten times what they bought theirs for.

But I can’t touch my value. It’s not a life insurance policy I can cancel. It’s not a cache of funds I can cash in.

But they can. If I’m gone.

I am, literally, worth more dead than alive.

And don’t I fucking know it.

To quote my dad, “Here you go, hon. Buy yourself something nice.”

I sound bitter.

I don’t feel bitter.

I sound angry.

I’m not angry.

I sound sad, like I’m feeling sorry for myself, like I’ve given up.

I’m not any of those.

I’m just an Iowa idiot, missing my parents, watching shit TV about a pair of bitter, angry siblings, arguing over the legacy their parents left them.

As fate would have it.

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Hansel's sister.

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