Friday really is a misnomer actually. It should be named something more appropriate; something that is more descriptive about how great a Friday really is. Something like Cookieday would work.
Even in my present circumstances, I like Fridays a lot.
Parents are coming to visit tomorrow.
I still kinda get bitter beer face about my parents visiting.
They’ve done so many things for me, but I suck at showing my appreciation.
I had a conversation with one of my kids today about focusing on the task at hand.
I need to do the same. And the task at hand is being a better parent for that kid.
Sometimes I need to follow the advice I’m sharing with others.
“Hi. I’m the person that needs your help. I know that there is nothing I can do if you choose not to help me and I am relying on your conscious decision to do the right thing to help me out. I know that if you choose not to help me, I have no recourse but to go home or a bar and blame you for the my misfortunes which I acknowledge that you did not cause and are only connected to due to your inadequately compensated position here. Bear with me for a moment because I need to lay out what is going to happen next.
First, I’m going to explicitly accuse you of unprofessional malfeasance. Second, as I do this, I will make unsubstantiated arguments devoid of factual basis. Third, I will, without sufficient foundation, conclude that me not getting my way will result in armageddon. Fourth, there is a good chance that my position will have racist undertones although if you accuse me of being anything less than a model of enlightenment and tolerance I will react with dramatic affront. Fifth, there will be a general display of a cocktail of cognitive biases throughout my statements. Sixth, I can’t discount a strong possibility of incoherent babble. Seventh, there is a greater than fifty percent likelihood that all or any of the above will be repeated with no recognition on my part of the needless redundancy.
Lastly, in general, I am going to be a massive, smelly, hairy, hyper-hormonal and mentally impaired dick.
But I expect you to ignore all that and cater to my selfish whims after which I will not thank you for your kindness.”
This is pretty much how I see how people advocate for themselves.
First Law of the Internet: Thou Shalt Not Read Comments.
I break that all the time. I get curious to see if anyone happens to show an insightful thought and down the rabbit hole of stupid I go.
Over the weekend, ran in to a string of comments about how political correctness is ruining things.
Here’s how I read that type of comment:
“I’m an asshole and I’m too much of a ball-less crybaby to be called out on it.”
I like to think that if I’m an asshole in some contexts (and I am), I can hack it if someone tells me so.
Is there any greater mystery than why oatmeal raisin cookies exist?
The only reason I can possibly imagine is to prove that you can ruin any wonderful thing if you try hard enough.
I don’t like oatmeal raisin cookies.
If I were smart and had a stronger stomach, I’d be in the landfills business. Some of my mail doesn’t even make it in the house. I walk from the mailbox straight to the outdoor garbage and recycling cans. There are retail stores that have a business model of selling the cheapest crap possible. Most of the items in a grocery store are sealed under multiple layers of packaging that are tossed.
But as much as it might be the smart thing to do, I’ve got a weak stomach. I admit it. And when my stomach fights my brain, the stomach wins.