Marginal Thoughts.

"Yo, Nicole! We're bored stupid over here!"

D'you miss my Sims stuff? Judging from the way my stats slumped after I stopped featuring them every day, yes, a few of you do. The more loyal among you may well be seeing them again soon; I just heard about a Sims expansion pack I doubt I'm going to be able to resist.

"Lanterns with genies inside them, telescopes to keep the astronomers happy, alien abductions, roach infestations, chemistry sets, fortune telling crystal ball, exploding garden gnome and holiday decorations will all feature in the new pack. New job paths will also be available, including musician, sloth, paranormal, journalism and for those dreamers, the game industry."

Exploding lawn gnomes? Wow. So much for verisimilitude: I only wish we had those in real life.

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... All written content copyright 1999-2000 by Nicole Willson. No ripping me off.

 

5/12 -- Insomniaville Public Service Announcement # 3.

(I'd written an entirely different entry for today and ended up junking it because the following topic is grating at me a lot more these days, for reasons that will soon become obvious.)

If I detail a troubling medical symptom I've been having, what do you do?

1. Say "Sorry to hear that -- hope you're feeling better soon." Or:

2. Tell me all about the friend of your mother's aunt who had the same symptom and ended up dying of some horrible, agonizing, slow-killing disease.

I'm simply flabbergasted by the people out there who think that 2. is the appropriate response.

To those people, I say this with love: "Shut the fuck up."

There may be a time and a place for you to share your inspiring stories about your Aunt Tillie's slow and painful death from something that began with the same symptoms your friend is experiencing, but "When your friend doesn't know what's going on and is already kind of upset about it" is most definitely NOT that time. You may mean well and have only the kindest intentions in the world, but you aren't helping anything. Trust me.

Shut the fuck up.

Put yourself in the other person's place: would YOU want to hear something like that if you were the one with the distressing symptoms? I think not. I think you'd want the other person to shut the fuck up, too.

Do you feel the need to preface your statement with "Not to be rude" or "I don't mean to alarm you" or "I'm sure this isn't what's wrong with you, but ..."? Good. That's your inner Shut-The-Fuck-Up Fairy trying to send you a last-second warning message: "If you feel the need to offer a disclaimer, what you have to say probably isn't going to be well-received or helpful -- so shut the fuck up." Listen to her. And shut the fuck up.

Thank you. You can go about your business.

(Y'know who else sucks? The "Oh, You're Not So Bad Off -- Things Could Be A Lot Worse" crew. But that's a bitchfest for another day, I think.)

(Woo. Crabby today. I know I should be outside and being productive today after spending most of last week sick in the bedroom, but here I am, sprouting roots in the computer chair. I need to do laundry; I need new clothes; I still need a haircut. But I'm still here. Sheesh, I'm pathetic.)

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