Wednesday, January 15, 2003
Stop Trying to Fix Me, Will You?
Someone going only by the name "Jessica" has been assaulting my inbox lately. She wants me to be a bigger, better man. Okay, I say, I'm listening. She wants me to last longer. Keep going, I say, thinking that I'm not sure that I like the direction of this exchange. We can all do better -- can't we? -- even though I'd like to think I hold my own.
Jessica begs to differ. She thinks my credit report could use a little sprucing up, and maybe get me a guaranteed auto loan. What's wrong with my credit? Nothing, I think. I already have a car. Is this not good enough for her? But I'm glad that she's moved on from the perceived-sexual-inadequacy arena for the moment.
She says she can get me a college degree, cheap. Didn't I graduate college? Didn't I finish graduate school? There are still loans to repay; another go-around in higher education doesn't seem like a great idea for me right now, Jessica. And I don't smoke, so it wouldn't be too hard for me to quit in seven days, guaranteed. Give me an afternoon, tops, and I'll brush the nicotine monkey off my back with very little fuss. And what's that going to prove, Jessica? Would I be good enough for you then? If I dropped fifteen pounds in a weekend, the easy way that you're telling me about, would we be square? Then could I go back to being myself?
Would that be enough?