I can be terribly annoying.

I don’t hesitate giving advice. Even when it’s not welcome. To alcoholics. To over-eaters. To people in depression. To just about anyone having difficulty coping with life. I muse out loud. About possible solutions to problems. Of course, often enough I’m told to keep quiet. To shut up in no uncertain terms. And that’s all right. But I insist on exercising my freedom of speech. Even if it’s annoying. Because I believe in the message. That people can solve their own problems. If they just try. A little bit harder. Or maybe a whole lot harder. But I’m told sometimes that I exacerbate the problem. By making people feel bad about themselves. For their failures. But I tell them, I’m not the one making them fail. Or angry. They are doing it to themselves. They choose to drink too much or to eat too much or to be downright unhappy. But often, they claim to be predisposed to their maladies or afflictions. And that I should have more sympathy. I suppose they’re right. I can be a pretty mean bastard. But I like to think of it as tough love. I give them a plan. For instance, if they eat too much, just eat less. Eat a half of a pizza, instead of a whole one. Or drink half of a beer, instead of the entire bottle. In other words, regulate your diet. Eat and drink only so much. ‘You don’t understand,’ some of them lament. And I admit, could be. Because I only know what works for me. I’m a happy being. I’m not depressed. But still, I gotta admit, I’ve gone through some terrible times. And there may be more to come. But I’m trying to make most of the moment. Living one day at a time. With a fervent resolve to be happy. And in love. With someone. Or something. –Jim Broede