Titles are annoying, those that are status-based and those I create for the things I write.
Social titles are annoying, creating an artificial hierarchical structure that I refuse to buy into. Titles for written works are also annoying. Creating new ones over and over is onerous. I hate trying to be clever and attention-grabbing. I hate trying to summarize my thoughts in seven words or less. If I could do that, I wouldn’t need three pages of writing. I would be queen of the aphorism.
Part of the frustration is I’m kind of bad at them. I should have come up with a system at the beginning. I should have been clever and had a naming protocol in place. Perhaps I could have named them all “Steve”? It would just be Steve One, Steve Two, and so on. Food for thought for my next life or next blog.
Depression is annoying. It’s annoying for so very many reasons. Chief among those right now for me is the fact that it recurs. I would very much like it if it would go away and stay gone. I do not like the way it regularly pops in to say “hello”.
Other drivers are annoying. I’m not sure what’s wrong with everyone else. I’m fine, of course – my driving is excellent – but so many other people drive so very badly. Sometimes, I wish I had a disintegration ray on the top of my car. I’d zap the hell out of a great many people. That would definitely take care of the problem.
Other things annoy me as well, both the serious and the mundane.
Crumbs on the ground thirty seconds after you vacuum.
Forgetting the one thing you went to the grocery store for
Having to do laundry.
The price of gas.
Honestly, there are so many frustrating things out there, I’m surprised I get through the days without punching holes in walls to vent my spleen.
On the flip side, there is a small possibility that I have a tendency to complain.
And, why not? My life is hard. I struggle with a variety of mental illnesses. I’m unemployed. My love life is the Sahara and my children have grown up and left home – mostly. My parents are aging, my cat wakes me up every morning at four-thirty, I need new tires, and the wood retaining wall at the side of the house is collapsing. At times, I feel quite put upon by the universe.
I was watching the Food Channel last night when my phone rang. My friends have been quite attentive of late because said depression is acting up. I appreciate the thought but sometimes, their attentions are frustrating – all I want is to be left alone. Still, because a semblance of the manners my mother tried to teach me remain, I answered the call. I half paid attention and half continued with the show. It was about really spectacular cakes. The one they were showcasing was so spectacular, in fact, that I commented on it to my friend, somewhat giving away the fact that I was partially focused elsewhere.
It’s three feet tall. I have no idea what it weighs but it must be a lot. It looks like a tower of food. A bowl of gumbo, with a burger and fries on that, and something else on that, over and over, all the way up. It’s like, six layers. It looks cartoonishly-realistic.
And then this thought:
It’s a weird world we live in, when you think about it. People are celebrating a birthday at a hotel with a $5000 cake and outside on the street people are living in boxes if they’re lucky and they haven’t had food or water yet today. Marie Antoinette would no doubt approve.
My friend agreed. It is indeed a weird world.
Titles are annoying. So are other drivers and mental health struggles and the spiders in the basement and the leaves I will have to rake up if it ever stops raining. Genteel poverty is annoying and so is the low-grade persistent belief I have, partially fueled by depression, that I have wasted my life.
But I need to stop complaining.
I need to hold onto some damn perspective. I have problems and they’re hard and they make my life a struggle at times. I am not saying my problems don’t count. I’m saying I need to stop complaining so much when realistically I’ve been quite blessed. I need to work a little harder on gratitude. I’ve let the practice fall by the wayside and you know what? I really am more selfish when I neglect it.
I’m going to keep reminding myself that I’ve been very lucky, problems notwithstanding, and I should keep that in mind more often. Even when, perhaps especially when I don’t want to.
(To be continued)
Do you have a tendency to complain?