the Russians are coming, the Russians are coming

Do you ever wonder if your ancestors would be ashamed of what a wimp you are?  I do.  Here I am, lying in my luxury bed, crying about my shitty life, hugging my down pillows, in my temperature-controlled house.  Poor me.

Like many American white people, my ancestors came over from Europe and left their hardships behind.  Maybe they'd be happy that their genes survived long enough to experience easier times.  And then wonder if they really did me any favors. 

Or maybe I'm secretly descended from a weak royal bloodline?  Maybe some peasants had enough of being stepped on and kidnapped a royal baby.  By the time they realized how frail the kid was, they couldn't give it back.  That might explain my princess requirements at times.  [What else am I supposed to do when my body fails me, but let my mind wander?]

Assuming no royal kidnappings in my ancestry, how did I come from such strong people and become such a pussy?  My body is an asshole and hates me.  That's how. 

If I don't have enough energy to wash my hair, I decided it's probably not a good idea to take a 90 minute workout class.  Going up and down the stairs is stealing my breath.  Holy fuck.  I feel as if I've been stuck in a gelatinous ooze the past year, making no progress no matter how much effort I exert.  Every time I start feeling better, WHAM!

Fortunately, my dad loves me and will be delivering food to me later today.  It was both comforting and weird that he didn't ask if I was feeling poorly.  I guess he knows me by now.  It's kind of his fault if you think about it, for not sharing his stronger genes and making poor choices by joining his with inferior ones.

I'll generously decline to mention that when I thank him for my food.