I hate unsolicited advice. Like, I really hate unsolicited advice. I hate it more than I hate fruit, and you guys know I hate fruit a lot.
(I also hate when people write “alot” instead of “a lot.” Two words. Here is a helpful reminder.)
Anyway, fruit. No, sorry, unsolicited advice. I think it’s because the people that generally give me unsolicited advice are the ones I’m least likely to ask for advice – par exemple: “Oh, okay, drug-addled 40-year-old woman with ten cats that poop all over your house, I think cooking meth would be a great way to make money!”
Also I’m stubborn and pretty damn arrogant, and I don’t like people suggesting they know more than I do unless I suggest it to them in the first place. It just comes off as bossy and meddling. I don’t like people to boss me around or meddle in my affairs unless I explicitly invite them to do so.
Obviously, however, I’m not alone. You hate unsolicited advice too, probably. This article on Psychology Today makes a lot of sense. It says that “the advice, justifiably or not, comes across to us as one-upmanship, or assertion of dominance, or criticism, or distrust, or failure to consider our own unique goals and priorities.” YEAH. You tryin’ to one-up me, man? You tryin’ to fail at considerin’ my own unique goals and priorities? Seriously, though, that’s more succinct than what I’d written.
So you’re like “whatever, Casey, shut up and show me some art.” Okay, GOSH. Simmer down, cranky. You’re not considering my own unique goals and priorities again.
I got a Bamboo tablet the other day. I already had a tablet, but it was so old that I’m pretty sure it was compatible with Apple ][e, and had formed a suspiciously
delicious flaky crust on it. I figure when your electronics acquire a crust, it’s not wasting money to throw them out. I haven’t drawn with a tablet in quite a while, so I’m still learning the ropes. In the meantime, I whipped up a delightfully accurate self-portrait: