I have a terrifying habit of giving advice. If I meet Jesus, I bet I'll give him advice. Something like, "You totally kicked the shit out of those money changers. That's not very Christian, is it? Maybe you could have just doused them in old loaves and fishes? Or turned the other cheek?"
And Jesus might say, "You know, that's very interesting advice. Here's some of mine." And he will promptly kick the shit out of me.
I'm writing to Erotica with a bunch of advice about family junk. I'm trying to help her understand the dynamic that surrounds her and her situation out there in Cleave-Land, O-Hell-o. My email to her grows longer and longer. It seems to wander around through waters, once clearing, that I have re-muddied with my well-meaning boots.
I've re-read my email a number of times (entitled "yo!"), but since it's my advice, most of it seems like genius and the rest like necessary explication. Ironically, the advice I'm giving her goes something like this:
You're the one who's important here. No matter what they say or do, in the end, it's your opinion and it's your life. You never signed a contract with them.
Having stated that relatively succinctly, I should explain that I did not take that approach in the email I will shortly send to her.
When I was in grammar school, I wasn't very talkative. I was talkative before that and as far as I can remember, after that. I certainly am now.
I've tried not talking before. In classes in college I would write at the top of the page, "SHUT UP" or "QUIET" and eventually, "Q". The Q days were those when there were people sitting close to me.
When I was studying later on, I'd see those little notes to myself and then on later pages notes to other people. I think I just couldn't stay quiet that long.
So Erotica gets to read my nattering while I sit and ponder, "Perhaps advice is part of my charm."
Just like the nattering?
Posted by dotty at October 1, 2003 11:44 AM