Complaint about complaining

While trying to brainstorm what to write for this week’s post, my list of ideas ended up looking something like this:

  • People I still hate from high school
  • My texting pet peeves
  • It sucks to be broke

I decided that these topics were too negative, especially considering the last time I wrote here, I basically just ranted about losing my phone and how the world hates me and how life is just so unfair and somebody please call the wah-mbulance.

And then my period hit me. So my ideas didn’t really get any better.

  • Why I hate men
  • It’s not fair I have to control my impulse to be crazy
  • Chocolate is God

And some shitty things happened this week in general. Medical things, like my eczema coming back. Financial things, like realizing just how little I make. Cringe things, like having awkward conversations with my coworkers. And dream-crushing things, like missing an opportunity to submit my story somewhere big. So of course, I’m in the mood to complain.

But I don’t want to be. I don’t want to complain because I’m worried about what kind of person that makes me. I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I don’t want to sound annoying. I also don’t want to talk about my period, since I’m pretty sure I’ve covered that topic several times by now. I don’t want to be repetitive. And as someone who writes in a blog, shouldn’t I be exploring different topics? Shouldn’t I be showing that I’m a multidimensional person, instead of just selectively writing about when I feel sad, mad, or have the strong case of the PMS?

I already know the answers to these questions. No, I don’t need to feel obligated to represent myself a certain way. I should feel free to talk/write about whatever the hell I want, because the opposite would mean talking/writing about things I don’t care about. Besides, complaining is fun! And despite all my (and Annie’s) attempts to stay positive through all the shitstorms we encounter in life, sometimes I wonder if maybe a good amount of complaining is healthy, necessary even.

Some of my most favorite conversations I’ve had with people involve some form of complaining. Just this past summer, I made a friend because we both thought our class was a snoozefest, and complaining about the class and the people in it made us look forward to going again so we could find new material to complain about. At my former workplace, I loved gossiping with my coworkers about just how much we hated working there. It felt good to know I had a comrade who agreed that management was incompetent, clients were annoying, and that the place in general was just the worst. And of course, when I’m with my girl friends, or with my boyfriend who has no choice but to listen to me while I whine, I love complaining about one of my favorite topics of all time: MY PERIOD. And how much it freaking SUCKS TO BE BLEEDING ALL DAY EVERY DAY. And how you can’t run or swim or wear skirts. And how you still have to be responsible for your words and actions even when your emotions are gone to shit and you’re physically uncomfortable 24/7, like GOD, can we just talk about periods already?!?!?!

Anyways, my point is that I realize that sometimes complaining can make you feel better about a shitty situation, especially when you have people to complain with. There’s something cathartic about just unleashing your negative thoughts about the world. And it’s nice to know that you’re not alone in thinking that everything sucks.

Even without a friend to complain to, I know I complain a lot via writing too, but I usually come away from the rant session feeling a lot better about the whole situation. So even if I read like some kind of whine-o bitch with a bunch of first-world problems in this blog, you, reader, should just know that this blog is not an entirely accurate picture of who I actually am and how I actually feel or think all the time. I speak as if I even have a reader to address, but I’m 96% addressing this to myself, so I can stop complaining about complaining too much, whether in real life or in writing, and just live my life and go back to complaining to my unsympathetic boyfriend about my period. (Why don’t men understand and also, more importantly, how can we force them to?)


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