Another Instance In Which I Have to Concede That My Mother Was Right

May 12, 2011

She told me.

She said that if I kept it up, I wouldn’t be pleased with what came of it.

She said all things in moderation.

She suggested that I take up some hobbies instead.

Find something to fill my waking hours. Something to occupy my hands.

Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, she reminded me.

They aren’t idle, I told her.

It would be better if they were idle.

They are in fifth gear, I said. Just about all the time.

Forty, fifty times a day.

She told me.

But I wouldn’t listen.

You’re going to pet all the damn hair off that cat, she told me, between drags on her Salem light cigarette.

And because she was a smoker, I didn’t listen to her. Because what do smokers know?

But she was right.

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