I really mean it, for all, not just the government. You seriously over-estimate yourselves, all ye who cling to the coping, helping, giving categories.
At 12 I asked my ballet teacher to help me improve my lacklaster turnout. I have hip problems to this day from her suggested, prolongued, insufferable positions.
At 20 I asked my professor to help me with a chapter of my novel. That was asking a lot, but rather than saying ‘no’ she redirected me from my natural aptitude toward her personal literary preferences.
At 23 I asked a close friend to teach me to snow ski. Big mistake, I loathe downhill skiing to this day after he ‘accidentally’ led me down the black diamond run instead of the bunny hills.
At 33 I asked my sister for advice on a very sensitive issue. Big fucking mistake, again.
At 40, oh yes, more bad advice. Not long after that crisis I was given ‘help’ after asking for it, in the form of drama from disturbed individuals. Ask for help, receive drama, that’s the pattern.
And more at 45, indeed still at 55, plus!
The solicited advice is bad enough, then there’s the constant stream of unsolicited advice.
The latest offense coming laughably not too long ago. “Don’t say yes to things that will drain you.”
Classic condescending cuntery! From a so-called friend! That will be going on a permanent plaque in the forefront of my mind, forever.
So many (not) thanks!
Will I ever learn? Can I ever learn?!
Let me give y’all some really hard-earned, yet totally unsolicited advice.
Most advice sucks! Most advice proferrers are FOS.
We-means-I . . .
Hopefully, maybe overtime we recognize and can more easily sift the rare and precious advice from the . . . might we dare to say . . . the profane?
Self-satisfaction is king and his queen is self-delusion!
And you can quote me on that!
And all that bitched, here’s my best-ever advice based on a lifetime of bad advice, and now featured eternally on Youtube: Choose reality over fantasy.
Rocket science, eh?
And that’s all folks!
Thanks for stopping by.
Reality over fantasy. Where’s my dinner, boss?
