My maternal grandmother used to say that someone who keeps themselves removed from all reality are "as happy as a dead pig in the sunshine." There was a time when I didn't really get her meaning, but I think I can see the analogy. That dead pig is oblivious to all that is going on around its bloated carcass. They are entrenched in a certain mindset, convinced that they are right and everyone else is wrong and enjoy the deep, untroubled sleep of the self-righteous.
I have divided my dead pigs into three categories. Cleopatras are the ones in denial. They insist they had a choice and that there are no repercussions to be had from the crimes against the mothers of the EMS. They refuse to see the coercion and punitive actions of an unjust society of holocaust proportions as real or comparable. To admit that there was ever a time in their, oh so superior, lives when they were not in control is beyond their ability to understand. These are also the ones who usually have unbalanced reunions where their children run the show.
Quixotes are the tilters at every windmill in the world. Rather than concentrating on one issue at a time, examining it, plotting a course of action and following through, they try to be all things to all people. They lump all their windmills together and dilute their effectiveness trying to justify that move. These are also the people who need a healthy dose of cynicism when it comes to adoption facilitators and adopters. They do not realize their own limitations and keep trying to sell their adoption stew as palatable to all.
Dubyas are the deniers, not to be confused with those in denial. Deniers, aka "deciders," are bullies who are smugly sure that they should be in charge. They are great at pushing emotional buttons and hurting the vulnerable among us. They will summarily dismiss anyone else's experience as invalid and superimpose their idealized version of their own as the only valid truth. There are a lot of adopters, loyal adoptees and good birthmartyrs in the Dubya category. One can be both a Cleopatra and a Dubya in many cases.
Mixed in among these dead pigs, are a few of us still up and running. These are the hopeful, the idealists who still have a modicum of faith in justice. We run into roadblocks and, rather than giving up, we try to chart a course around them. We receive hate mail from the Cleos and the Quixotes and REALLY hateful mail from the Dubyas. But we also have a sisterhood of support that is second to none.
While it is true that most of us are average women (very few of us are the ultimately most savvy swine in the sty) we have very adequate intelligence, years of experience, memories, and the time it took to process those memories and pull out the truth. Not all of us have degrees or prestige among the upper echelons of this upside-down society. No, we are the ones who form the backbone of this nation, and whose work, purchases, family values (the REAL kind) and very lives allow the financially and socially elite to live as well as they do. Even the ones among us who have achieved success tend to be less self-congratulatory than our national elite.
Pigs are very smart animals. While a lot of people will say "ewwwww," the fact is that pigs are every bit as smart as dogs or dolphins. But a dead pig is still a dead pig. You leave it out in the sun to bloat and decompose, and it stinks just like any other dead animal.
But, the sucker's happy.