***This post is not about writing, though it is directly related.***
Why is it so easy to complain?
Complaining takes zero effort. In fact, it takes immeasurable effort not to complain. When I attempt to not complain my jaw starts to ache, my stomach becomes a trash-compactor, and I usually develop some form of a nervous tick. It's instinctual; something terrible, frustrating, confusing, hurtful, or inconvenient happens and what's the first thing I do? Complain. I could be gushing blood because I rammed my shin into that damn drawer that secretly inches its way out overnight, and even before digging out the peroxide, Neosporin, and band-aids, I will make the time to stop, find something with ears (animals suffice when a human is not present) and proceed to tell them what horrible thing just happened to me. And then I will complain because I don't have the right size band-aids. Just those little circle ones. And I don't want those band-aids; I want the rectangular ones with the little ventilation holes so my skin can breathe and the fatal wound heals properly. The circle ones are pointless. Who gets a circular injury!? Name one time anyone has received a laceration that was in the shape of a cheerio. Why are they even here!? Who put the freakin' ugly, dumb, COMPLETELY LAME circle band-aids in MY variety pack?!?! Who did it!???!!!
Sorry . . .
Here are some of the things I have complained about in the last twenty minutes.