Drifting thoughts of a snowflake

Wednesday, April 04, 2007


After talking with a girlfriend, I’m reminded how boring complaining really is. I agree and it’s hardly ever unique. Yet once the whining starts, I get sucked in. It’s comfortable there. Complaints are like a comfy overstuffed hand-me-down chair in the corner of a gray bar. Just let me curl up and say nothing. I’ll sip my pint and think too much.

Oddly I haven’t seen that side of me in quite some time. That’s rare for me. Nothing’s wrong in my world and I can’t complain about a thing. I still struggle fitting everything into my schedule, but that’s just me not being able to prioritize.

On the checklist of “happy”, I’ve gotten everything I could want. Devoted and loving dog, stable boyfriend, more friends than ever before, and my house that I love. Why do I ever complain?

I look around and see my family is miserable. I’m sad for them, but it’s not my complaint. My friends are stuck in the same holding patterns and I’m fine finally. I guess that’s how we balance each other out.

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