Dreck in the City

I am slowly figuring out that some of my friends are a pain in my ass (if you're reading this, it's not you - I know who you are!). Friendship is an odd thing, and the love of friends is a lovely thing, but, well . . .

A brief story about Bluebeard. To the average observer Bluebeard was the perfect boyfriend. Gorgeous, rich, charming, attentive, affectionate . . . he was also Bluebeard. My friends loved him and, while I blame myself for everything, obviously, the fact that some of them advised me in very explicit language to keep my claws in there no matter what happened helped encourage me to keep my claws in there no matter what happened. Bluebeard was Bluebeard, but it could all have been done so much better on my end.

Since then I've had a hard time paying any attention at all to anything any of my friends say in terms of advice. Bad and opposite reaction but I do feel that finally one can't take emotional advice from friends. Even the sort of mental health care professionals that I go in for couch their emotional advice in non-advising and extremely personal terms.

Fine. Since coming to that conclusion, friends have no longer been pains in my ass, until recently, and recently only in selective situations. The fact is, being absolutely unwilling to take emotional advice, I'm very uncomfortable giving it. I have a few friends whose whole thing right now is asking for emotional advice. And you know how it feels? It feels like they're trying to vampire emotional advice or attention or something out of me. I'm not talking 'my job makes me stressed, what should I do?' sort of situations; I'm talking personal personal stuff, and not just for one evening over too many drinks, but over days, weeks, months.

I blame Sex and the City. Fuck, I hate that show.