Old photos are horrifying. To me. I can't figure out why. I hate history, I hate learning about it, hate hearing about it, and detest looking at old photos. Why? I don’t know, maybe in a way it’s a reminder of how insignificant I am and that we’re all going to die. Sure, it’s a bit of a leap, but that’s how the gears turn in my head. It’s all about me, and how eventually I am going to die.
Today in my inbox was a link. Someone in the family had uploaded a bunch of old pics online. As I scrolled through the photos two things were immediately clear – one was that most of the photos were terrible and I could barely tell if there were people in the pictures, the contrast was non-existent. The second revelation was that, of the photos where I could detect relatives, I decided I wasn’t sure I wanted to be related to any of the odd-looking anorexic bobble-heads, because Oh My Gawd, my aunts, mom, and uncle were seriously underfed.
So skinny. So so skinny. All razor-sharp elbows and knee caps jutting out from heads that look 3-times too large for their stick-figure bodies, with too-large facial features. I’m not so sure if I should be worried that my mother was anorexic, or if grandma had a close encounter of the freaky kind and genetically I am one-quarter alien species. You decide.
