Since You Asked

As an aside, my parents refused to recognize that I had a problem, and offered no help whatsoever. I came to terms with that a long time ago.

By the time I graduated I was completely screwed up, and I knew it. But I also had a new job and, for the first time in a long time, control of my life, which was an improvement.

That’s when I met a girl I’ll call Carla. She was decidedly different from anyone I had ever met before. In fact, our first conversation was all about her sex life. The gist: She loved having sex with her boyfriend and didn’t get it often enough. Keep in mind that at this time I didn’t even know what an organism was. Exploring my sexuality wasn’t my highest priority. Keeping my sanity was. It was a strange conversation, but at least it was real (also a new experience for me at the time). Not long after that, a group from work decided to go dancing. I went, although it would be a first for me, because I felt I had to put myself out there, even if I made a fool of myself (which I would do many times during those years). Carla came too, and decided that we would dance together. I had no idea that one person could treat another one so well. It wasn’t so much anything that she did as it was her attitude. She wasn’t just out to have to fun, she wanted me to have fun too. She drew me into the experience. At one point, during a break in the music, she looked up at me and announced she was going to kiss me. It was very chaste, and given our previous conversation, I didn’t read much into it. But, as you can imagine, it is a cherished memory for me.

Much to my delight and surprise, she kept wanting to spend time with me. At the time, it seemed very innocent. We did things she liked doing — golfing and ice skating, for instance — and she never embarrassed me even though I had never done any of these things before and didn’t do them well. I was very awkward around her. Once, she took me horseback riding (she owned one and this was a passion for her) and, when I got up in the saddle behind her, I found I was unable to put my arms around her waist. It didn’t seem right. That lasted until I bounced off the back of the horse. Another time I missed a date because I got into a fender-bender on the way there. I was concerned she’d be angry, but when I saw her she had two questions for me: What happened? and Are you OK? Concern and compassion were not things I was used to receiving. Throw in the fact that she was very attractive, and I was more than just a little infatuated.

Then she dropped a very loud hint that she thought I’d make a better boyfriend than her current one. Even at the time, it made a lot of sense. Our personalities meshed perfectly and I knew she saw and respected the qualities I liked about myself. We had spent a lot of time talking, and I knew the vision she had for the future. It was something I could have bought into. She had the stronger personality, but she respected who I was. It even explained the attitude of her parents, who really liked me.

I couldn’t. I knew that her relationships were intense and physical, and I was far from ready for such a commitment. There were no scenes. I just didn’t react the way I should have. She quit work, and we saw less and less of each other, though we never completely lost contact. Then, about five years later, she called me, told me she had broken up with her boyfriend, and would I like to come over. I knew why I was being summoned, but it didn’t go well. A couple of weeks later, she told me she was getting married. I’ve always felt that she hadn’t really broken up, but had come to a point in her relationship where she either had to dump him or marry him, and she couldn’t do that without resolving her feelings for me.

I am, and always have been, OK with what happened between us. She never did anything to me that really hurt me, and a lot that made me feel better about myself. I recovered and built the life that I wanted. Carla became a very pleasant memory, and I occasionally would think of her and wondered what happened to her. And I have always been grateful for the kindness and generosity she showed me. My life was enriched because I knew her.

About a year ago, I thought of her again, and it occurred to me to see if I could find her on the Internet. Much to my surprise, I did. Through her own words, I even have a rough idea how her life has gone. She’s had her share of difficulties, but she’s also achieved some of her dreams. She appears to have a pretty good life.

As you’ve probably guessed, the thought of contacting her (I can access her address and phone number) and telling her how grateful I am for the help she gave me has caught my imagination. I know she doesn’t know the whole story, and I’d really like her to know.

I am, however, terrified of contacting her, for several reasons. First, I am concerned about reinserting myself in her life. Her 20-year second marriage broke up a year ago and she’s living with another guy. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression. I have the love and support I need now, and this is not about rekindling an old love. You should know we live a thousand miles apart.

Nevertheless, I find my feelings about this are deep and powerful. The tale that I have to tell her is very painful, and simply telling the story is extremely emotional. Throw in the immense gratitude I feel toward her, and I’m uncertain if I can even get through the conversation.

You should know that I told my wife this story, and she understands and supports my desire to talk to Carla.

So I find myself stuck. I can’t get the thought of talking to her again out of my head, but I lack the courage to initiate a very difficult conversation. I’m not sure what to do.

Grateful in Colorado

Dear Grateful,

One thing we can do for people who have come into our lives like angels and have provided us with things they perhaps did not know they were providing and we did not know we needed is we can tell them, finally, the whole story, the whole bumpy, textured, detailed narrative, such as you have begun to do here. We can in that way show them what a huge part they have played in our lives. We can give them that story as a gift.

I know how strange this may sound. We do not value stories as we might. We often fail to honor stories. So honor this story. Honor her place in your life. Show her that you recognize her value to you at these pivotal moments. Do this by giving her the story.

How will you do that? If you are not accustomed to spending long periods of time writing, then perhaps it will help to buy a digital kitchen timer and set it for periods of 15 minutes or half an hour and begin that way. I would very much like to see you recall the conditions of your life in more detail, at those times that she appeared before you. Those conditions are what made her presence so valuable to you. You mention in general terms a hard time at school, and other difficult moments. I suggest you sit at a desk with a timer and quickly write down the bare details of those times. Then, over a period of a few days or weeks you can sift through it and see what details are important, and craft the final tale.

I note that in telling your story to me you use the word “explanation,” and I think that tells us something about the low status that “story” has in our culture. We are not a “story” culture; we are an “explanation” culture. I’m not getting down on you for how you told the story. I think you told it beautifully. I’m trying to honor the story and at the same time to take note of the cultural habit we have of relegating “story,” this sacred thing, this essence, really, of our whole lives, to the status of “explanation.” When we launch upon a tale we are always conscious that listeners expect it to be an “explanation.” I note also that whenever we part from the empirically demonstrable in this culture of explanation we risk being branded as less-than serious, or New Age, or woo-woo, or crazy or as a charlatan. And yet I say, with utter certainty, that I sense a great deal more in your tale, and I urge you to write it out.

As you write, you will “enter more fully” into the situation, not knowing exactly where it will lead or what you will say or what she will feel, or why she has been in your life from time to time all these years, or what she may want from you. You contemplate what she means to you, and how grateful you are that at a certain point she entered your life and gave you grace and compassion and confidence when you needed it most, and pointed you in a certain direction. You will contemplate the fact that she is one of those spirits we encounter in life who are helpers or incarnations of goddesses or manifestations of our own dreams, or answers to our prayers. (Quite probably, we are also helpers to them, unknowingly giving them exactly what they need at a certain time in life when they, reciprocally, do not even know exactly what it is they need. This, I think, is how we end up at the age of 50 with certain seemingly disconnected but powerful impressions and memories: A transaction of mythic power took place whose full significance remained unconscious, and so it continues to reverberate throughout our lives; thus this person, through seeming synchronicity, continues to reappear at vital nodes of our story.)

So I see you sitting in a window somewhere and looking out over a town square and thinking back to how things have been and how things turned out, and it has a melancholy note to it, even if you are in Colorado looking out over vast, pristine snow-topped mountains, and in sitting and thinking it through maybe you venture a little outside the functional paradigm and view your life in a mythic way; our lives are stories, after all, not accomplishments or accumulations; by 50 a life acquires symphonic overtones and reverberations and reiterations of theme.

This person has a very specific purpose in your life story. In a practical sense, we know that she also has a completely separate life. But that life is not relevant to you. It is the role she has played in your life that matters to you. To you, she is a character in your story. We interpret and give meaning to our lives the way we interpret and give meaning to literature, assigning purpose to the actions of others, and making them into characters of a sort, characters who have a specific purpose and meaning within the context of our story.

But we do not often have the pleasure of learning precisely what part we have played in the stories of others. So it is a true gift to be able to tell someone how, at crucial moments, they gave you something of real value.

Where is this leading? It is leading toward an appreciation of your story, and of her role in your life. Your story is being moved forward toward a sort of conclusion and tying-up. This moment is like a denouement.

Thinking about people from your past? There’s stuff in here about that.

Makes a great gift. Can be personalized for the giftee of your choice. Signed first editions on sale now.

What? You want more advice?

• Read more Cary Tennis in the Since You Asked directory.
• See what others are saying and/or join the conversation in the Table Talk forum.
• Ask for advice. Letter writers: Please think carefully! By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure. If you are not sure, sleep on it. You can always send tomorrow. Ready? OK, Submit your letter for publication.
• Or, just make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
• Or, send a letter to Salon’s editors not for publication.

Why? you may ask. Because he is a complete and utter slob! He grew up on a farm and spends lots of time outside tending to his garden and fixing his many lawnmowers that he has fished out of the trash. I spend hours cleaning, all for him to destroy the house in literally a matter of minutes. It is ridiculous. To add insult to injury he does not wash his hands … EVER. Not even after going poo … I feel like I was hoodwinked and bamboozled, because there is no way in hell I would have ever put myself in a situation to live with one of my parents at this point and time in my life. I have expressed my frustration with the situation, but he doesn’t want to ever talk about it. I want to move, but right now I am not financially stable and I am so close to finishing school, I don’t want to jeopardize my studies.

Grown Woman Living in Daddy’s House

Dear Grown Woman Living in Daddy’s House

I don’t think you are an ungrateful daughter. I think you are a person reacting to a shitty situation in an understandable way.

After years of being self-sufficient you’ve been thrown back into dependent daughterhood. That has got to trigger some feelings you’re not prepared for. That’s got to be tough on the ego. It would be hard for it not to matter how well your father handled it.

And he’s not handling it all that sensitively, one must say. When our  survival is symbolically threatened, we sometimes reassure ourselves by making our immediate surroundings clean and healthy and spotless. It’s a good thing to do if you’re feeling threatened and insecure; it can cheer you up to clean house. So here’s an interesting symbolic contradiction: Here you have come to your dad to help you survive, and he is providing for you, yet also doing things that symbolically threaten your survival: Dirt, poo, infection, disease, loss of control!

Subconsciously it may be felt as aggression: Your dad is threatening your survival rather than nurturing it. He’s bringing danger into the house. He’s bringing dirt and disease into the house, meaning, symbolically, into your body. So he’s polluting you when you are trying to regain your strength. The literal-minded may quibble but we’re talking about emotions that take place below our conscious awareness, in the language of symbols.

On the surface he’s doing you a favor, and good for him. But he’s also not admitting your personhood or your power: He’s retaining his own power over his own place. That’s the prerogative of property ownership in a society that worships property. You are expected to grant him the prerogatives of ownership. But he’s not accommodating you, really, as a person. It may even feel as though he’s trying to push you out.

His hospitality may be begrudging; his messing up the house may be passive-aggressive; he probably wants to go on living as he is accustomed to living. There may also be some unspoken disapproval of your reversal of fortune, and perhaps a little unspoken “I told you so,” if you have been too independent for his liking. He may even be enjoying being the father to a relatively helpless daughter once again — a daughter who cannot force him to wipe his feet.

Assuming your parents are divorced, is he also repeating a pattern of conflict he had with your mother? Could be. They could have had fights over just such things. If those fights led to their divorce, you may also be experiencing uncomfortable memories of an earlier symbolic threat to your survival. Also, not to jump ahead, but this could also be a preview of the role reversal that happens as your dad ages and weakens and you take on the role of caretaker, being sure he washes his hands and wipes his feet, as a mother would do in raising a child.

But that’s just the messy symbolic stuff it’s my job to dredge up. On the surface, in the practical present, you’re a capable adult woman in control of her life and career. You’ve made yourself a plan that requires you to do some compromising. That’s what this is: It’s a conscious compromise. You’re still making your own choices. This is just temporary.

You’ve found shelter in a bad time. Your dad is your ally. He loves you. He’s providing you a place.  He’s doing what he can, in his way.

Hang in there, finish your course of study, thank your dad and stay positive. When you look back on this, as uncomfortable as it is now, you’ll be grateful there was a place for you to go. With the passage of time it may even become a fond if bittersweet memory.

I know she loved me more than anything, and she sacrificed a lot to try to give me a good life, but as a kid, I felt as if I was battling her alcoholism for her. I would constantly find single-serving wine bottles stuffed between couch cushions, and it was an almost nightly occurrence for her to drink herself to sleep, leaving the house a mess and me to throw away the empty bottles and rinse out the glasses she would leave next to the couch. After she would go to bed, it was usually a coin flip whether or not she would rise from her sleep to stalk around the house staring blindly at everything and shouting incoherently. More than once she, thoroughly drunk, thought I was a burglar and tried to attack me. The first time this happened I was 11, and in her mind she had gone back in time and thought I was going to steal her baby (me). She nearly strangled me.

What made my childhood much easier was the fact that I had grandparents nearby who did not seem to struggle with alcoholism or poverty or depression. They were good people who seemed to rise above all the stupidity we are capable of. In fact they helped my mother make ends meet on a few occasions, and they always seemed to come to the rescue when we were in a jam. I felt more often than not that my grandparents were like my real parents, and my mother was like some big crazy sister who loved me a lot but was still trying to figure things out.

And from a young age, the lesson they kept quietly teaching me was that alcoholism was a demon in our family. It ran in our blood, and had ruined cousins, uncles and sisters. And the best way to avoid this fate was not to start at all.

And for my part I promised myself that I would never drink, or smoke, or do drugs.

And I never did.

A lot of people may not believe me, but I have never so much as sipped a beer, or taken a drag from a cigarette. And there is my problem. Everyone who knows me knows that I don’t drink, and I feel like I’ve put myself in this box where I will never drink.

This was fine for my early 20s, and in some ways I felt superior for not having blown hundreds of dollars at the bars, or woken up with hangovers, or been so drunk I couldn’t remember what happened to me. I have always been in control of my life, and that is something I take pride in.

But I also feel like there is this whole side to life that I may be missing out on, and that maybe I should relax these rules I’ve created for myself. I feel that a lot of people can’t relate to the fact I don’t drink, and I also would sometimes really like to be able to have a beer with my friends and be their equal, and not this always-sober outsider. A few weeks ago at a champagne brunch with friendly strangers who didn’t know I don’t drink, the waiter poured me a glass of champagne, and when they toasted I held it up and looked at it for a long time before I realized my wife was staring at me.

What to do?

Dear What to Do,

Testing yourself for alcoholism is like testing yourself for flammability. You’re probably not. But what if you are?

“Given the fact that alcohol-dependence seems highly heritable,” why take the risk?

Why not instead ask what needs alcohol might satisfy, and then find other ways to satisfy those same needs? Why not seek safe, life-enhancing alternatives to drinking? Why not read Abraham Maslow and design your life around the quest for peak experiences?

We raise our glasses and drink ceremonially to sanctify some event or passage. We all drink from the same bottle. By imbibing the same drink, we are joined; it is a kind of sacrament. You can mime the gestures but something pulls you to fully engage. Of course it does. This is not just about getting a little champagne in your mouth. It is a powerful ritual.

My suggestion is to find even better ways, more direct, honest and compelling ways to have this same ritual bonding and expression of shared esteem and purpose. I suggest you make this a lifelong pursuit. Make it a way of undoing for good the perhaps multigenerational history of alcoholism in your family.

This way, if those who dispute the role of genes in alcoholism are correct, and behavioral factors are more important, then you will still be doing something to eradicate certain behaviors that were leading to case after case of alcoholism. You will be finding something that members of your family have a particular need for, and satisfying that need.

Look for something that seems cool but not too cool, something you’ve always wanted to do, something you’re drawn to, that’s maybe a little outside your normal range but not totally kooky and weird.

For instance, it may be possible to participate in the ecstatic communality of a sweat lodge. I don’t know. Maybe a sweat lodge would be too weird for you. I don’t know how much facial hair you have, or what your body mass index is. I’m just saying, identify the underlying principle and then find something that suits your social tastes.

That there are things wrong in the world, that there are things so awful in this world that knowledge of them drives us to want to blot them out of consciousness. Read today’s piece by Noam Chomsky, for instance, for a reminder of how thinly “normal American life” veils our history of brutal atrocities.

How are you supposed to think about these things and not feel as though you are going mad? How are you supposed to have a conscience and not feel trapped by history? How are you to take all this in, as a young person? How to reconcile knowledge of evil done in one’s name with the innocent desire to believe in one’s country, to identify with one’s countrymen, to feel strong and patriotic and confident about the future?

These, too, are legitimate questions. So, my friend, I urge you to take seriously the genetic and environmental risk factors for alcoholism, and actively seek ways to have ecstatic experiences in this insane world without killing yourself. Adopt adaptive behaviors that don’t make things worse.

I like to do things that are stressful to the kidneys such as drink coffee, get drunk now and then, trip on plants that are metabolized by the kidneys and liver (this is part of my spiritual practice). Do I say nothing and hope that, come March when she’s testing possible donors, we are not a match? Or do I strain the friendship by admitting to her that I have misgivings about my promise?

Willing Initially

Dear Willing Initially,

You did a good thing. You offered to help.

You may or may not be a compatible donor. But you said these words out of a genuine spirit of generosity and kindness. This is a pretty amazing thing about human beings — that we are inclined toward helping each other. It’s a good thing.

It may turn out that you are a match, but it’s statistically unlikely. “In the case of cousins, your chance of being identical is 1 in 16. In the case of a friend, then your chances vary depending on how common your HLA is,” according to this helpful booklet from Stanford’s Program in History and Philosophy of Science and Technology.

In either case, having second thoughts doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. To donate a kidney is a big thing and it’s natural to have second thoughts. So wait until it’s time for all the potential donors to be screened, and get screened, and then deal with it once you know if you’re a potential donor.

This question and answer page from the University of Maryland Medical Center is very informative. As is this one. 

Give yourself some credit. You spoke out of an impulse toward compassion and selflessness.

If you are indeed a match and you can’t go through with it, no one will fault you for it. But your initial impulse shows you have within you the capacity to help. It’s a precious thing. Think of the worldwide effect of such impulses, if they were carried out millions of times over. Think of the things we could solve if we honored these selfless impulses and our societies were organized to realize them. Think how much needless suffering could be stopped.

You say you use psychedelic plants as part of your spiritual practice. Perhaps one of these trips you can inquire of your spirit guides what is the right thing to do. But you needn’t decide yet. Wait. More will be revealed.

I am very eager to have babies with the man I love. With us now moving, kids are on the back burner because we won’t have health insurance until one of us lands a job with benefits. We had been trying to get pregnant until the decision to move was made because I have decent benefits with my current hateful job. (One of the reasons I haven’t quit, the other main one being that I’m trying to hold this job out till we can move.) I really want kids soon; I have wanted to be a mother since I was 5. But the stress of life and my failing body seem to want other things for me. I had injured my back at work and now am in physiotherapy to heal it, yet I’m still obligated to work my full shifts. Those eight-hour shifts literally drain me. I haven’t had a period in 3.5 months (my doctor insists it’s stress-related). And most recently, my pap test came back with abnormal cells on my cervix. No further tests have been done, but my doctor thinks my back, lack of period and abnormal cells are at least partly because of too much stress. Hard not to be stressed when all these symptoms have made me worry and fret even more about never being able to have children! The more that I worry, the more stressed my body becomes. The more symptoms of the stress I experience, the more I worry. (A huge catch-22.) One of my worst fears is to end up being barren.

On to my other issue. My fiancé and I both smoke marijuana regularly. I will note here that we do not smoke cigarettes at all, nor do we drink alcohol very often. Although I have heard that it can prevent couples from conceiving, I only “slowed it down” when we were trying to get pregnant. My fiancé seems to have his usage under control. He is able to use on a part-time basis and not every evening and every weekend. I am a different story altogether. I use (abuse) marijuana for stress. I rush to get home after work to have the bad memories of the day dissolve into higher thoughts. I am not high at work, but evenings and weekends are full of my usage. It’s the way I’ve taught myself to deal. Although I don’t think marijuana is an “evil drug” that “leads to other drug usage,” I know that I am misusing it. I have never felt the need to try any other drug (besides alcohol and caffeine). But I barely even notice the effects any more. Despite that, I can’t imagine quitting it altogether. I know that if I were pregnant I would not smoke at all, because there is another human being involved who would be affected by it.

But without marijuana, how would I deal with life’s stress? Plus there is some part of me that feels like marijuana is not bad. You ought to know that in my family, a few other people smoke marijuana. My aunt and cousin probably use it once daily, and my mom and brother once or twice a week, and my dad on occasion. While they never permitted any drug usage as a teenager, I found out and smoked with family after turning 19. Obviously this is a huge part of the reason why I can’t seem to convince myself that marijuana is “bad.”

This new city will not have any marijuana contacts for my fiancé and me, and it is my plan to stop smoking when we move. But really, I don’t want to stop at all, and I feel like I’m lying to myself by thinking that a new city will stop me from finding a way to do it. Plus, my fiancé is moving first, and we will be apart for a month (we’ve never been apart for longer than 10 days in the past four years). I know that with him gone, I will want to smoke even more. Especially because I feel like I want to get as much smoking in before I “can’t” anymore.

I know several people who use marijuana more than I do and who firmly believe that no one can get addicted to it. I guess I’m not so sure about this, but I would like to believe it because then I’m just a hippie and not an addict. I worry about the usage affecting the physiotherapy on my back, but since we aren’t trying to get pregnant, I still smoke whenever I want to. My fiancé knows that I smoke too much, he knows that I KNOW that I smoke too much too. But month after month he still brings it home for us. I have tried to quit before, asking him to keep it all hidden and out of sight. This always fails, because I will find it and sneak some or bug and bug him to get it out of hiding for me.

I don’t think I can stop until he stops bringing it into the house and we get rid of all the marijuana paraphernalia that is around our place. If my fiancé doesn’t want to quit with me, I would be disappointed. But as long as he kept everything out of our house and cars, I think I could do it. I really do want children in the long run and better physiotherapy results in the short term. What do I do?

Moving and Shaking

Dear Moving and Shaking,

You are using marijuana to relieve stress.

Stress is your problem. Whether you stop smoking marijuana or not, you need to learn more and better ways to relieve stress.

Start doing tai chi; start doing yoga; meditate; take naps; breathe deeply a lot; do biofeedback. If you are doing any of these activities already, don’t conclude that since you’re doing it a little it must not work. Instead, do it more.

You may need higher doses of yoga to get relief. Also, if you are consuming lots of caffeine, see about cutting back. Try substituting some herbal teas for caffeinated beverages now and then. Notice the difference. Especially in the afternoon, cut out the caffeine so you can get a better night’s sleep.

You will notice things about yourself this way. You will notice the different qualities of consciousness that arise from various techniques. It will be entertaining and interesting. You will notice a gradual improvement in your ability to go through life in a relaxed, worry-free way. Unpleasant activities like work and dealing with power-hungry blockheads will go more smoothly.

During this time, you might want to experiment with not smoking for a time. Pick an occasional time when you are stressed out, and instead of smoking, do 15 minutes of meditation, or some tai chi or yoga.

Don’t try to quit all at once, especially not on your own. Just learn some better relaxation techniques. Take it easy. Look for gradual improvement.

Once you’ve found other ways to relieve stress, you may not feel so fearful about the idea of quitting marijuana for good. Try going without for a few days at a time and see how that goes. You can always smoke. But experience what it’s like to handle life without it. Try to get accustomed to that feeling. You may feel slightly on edge, but take a deep breath of fresh air instead of a hit of weed.

The thing is, whether you call yourself an addict or not, changing habitual behavior is hard, and it’s especially hard to do alone. It’s hard to do without a program. It takes time, effort and support, and there are ups and downs. So I wouldn’t recommend trying to stop smoking marijuana on your own, or just with your fiancé.

As you say, for a variety of reasons, you are going to want to quit. So what I’m suggesting is that you prepare, in these ways, for the day when you will need to quit. I’m sure marijuana gives you other things besides stress relief; it probably gives you a heightened sense of the beauty of life, of tastes and sounds, and of general well-being. These things you may need to seek out in life; I find that there are other ways to feel these momentary highs. Seek them out.

For quitting things, as you probably know, I favor the 12-step method because it has added benefits: It helps you get your life together and is a lasting program of living. It is a community. It works for a lot of things.

When and how you quit is up to you. I can say that based on experience, it is definitely possible. You can quit and lead a normal, happy life, when you’re ready to. My bottom line is just that A) You should acquire new stress-relief methods first, before trying to quit, and B) what was B? Oh yeah, B) Don’t try to quit on your own. If and when you do decide to quit, do it with a group or a program behind you.

And, hey: Good luck. You sound like really nice people and I wish you the best in life. And say hello to the kids when they come. And say hello to the mountains.

Yeah, I know this isn’t all my fault, that it takes two to make a bad relationship, and all that. And certainly there are women — most of them — who wouldn’t even look my way. Great for them. But for those who are willing to look my way, don’t I have a basic human obligation to keep them safe from my horribleness and inevitable failures? Without exception I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing or just collapse.

So. Given that I contribute nothing to the world but disappointment and misery, and I can’t control my desire for companionship and attention, shouldn’t I just kill myself? Isn’t that the moral thing to do at this point?

A Dangerous Nothing

Dear Dangerous Nothing,

You, my friend, are exactly perfect the way you are. You’re not a moron!

Look on the bright side: You have a technique. Don’t wait to show her your bumbling, fumbling, weak and incompetent side.  Spill your soup on her now! On the first date. Roll your car over your own foot and have her take you to the emergency room. Come out of the bathroom with tape all over your face. Why? Because a person with tape all over his face looks funny!

It’ll break the ice. She’ll thank you for it!

Pour it on  about what a loser you are! That’ll get her going about how you just have low self-esteem and you’re being too hard on yourself.

If you are asking women to marry you and promising to fly them in your private jet to your villa in Portugal and saying you’ll pick them up at 8 o’clock sharp the next morning and then you are not showing up, then women are going to bed thinking about your private jet and then not getting to ride in it. That’s bad.

You should slap yourself in the face once very hard if you are doing that. Then you should force yourself to sell your imaginary private jet at a loss of millions of imaginary dollars.

But killing yourself wouldn’t make any sense at all, and it wouldn’t make anyone happy, not even you.

Besides, there are worse people.