The lost art of complaining

I love to complain. I think it’s subconscious, though. I don’t look for things to complain about or look for reasons to complain. Yet, somehow, I find myself in a conversation surrounding negative points of view (most of them mine). I actually, consciously try NOT to complain. Sometimes, though, it’s impossible.

I’m a lot better about it than I was in high school (and college… and early motherhood… and maybe the past week.) I really try to see the positive side of things and I think I do it pretty convincingly. When I’m really on, you’d think rainbows shone out my butt.

Sometimes, though, I really enjoy complaining. I guess you could call it a guilty pleasure. I just miss those days in the hallways at school complaining about a strict teacher or at a bar just bitching about the $10 beer or not enough cheese in the pepperoni rolls. Those jerks couldn’t make pepperoni rolls to save their lives.

I feel like I have been sooo thankful, so positive, so blind to the obvious opportunities to complain that are surfacing right before my eyes! Am I growing up? Am I turning into an adult? Maybe it’s time to put my complaining aside and try not to sweat the small stuff.

Sometimes, though, the itch is so unbearable I can’t stand it.

“GAH!! I freakin’ hate this stupid song on Pandora. I can’t think through this pointless post! Stupid Pandora ALWAYS plays this song! Thumbs down! Does that even mean anything to you anymore, PANDORA! SHIT!”

There. I feel better now. Heard tomorrow’s supposed be a nice day!

2 thoughts on “The lost art of complaining

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