On A Roll

Saturday morning. Two feet of snow outside (and counting) and three cups of coffee inside my system. I'm not gonna complain about the snow, because generally, I think it's a lot of fun. Of course, I haven't started shoveling, yet, so there will be plenty of time for sailor-level swearing as the day wears on. Generally, I try to avoid complaining, because no one wants to hear it, really. You've got your own problems, right? Some times, though...

I believe things even out over time. Some days are good, some are bad; occasionally, there are windfalls balanced out by tragedy. The law of averages comes into play at some point and, if you live long enough, you're going to see plenty of both sides of the coin. Overall, it's a neutral thing, life. Some times, though...

Complaining doesn't fix anything, either; it's just the adult form of whining. There are people whose main form of discourse is the complaint, and they annoy the living shit out of me. It presupposes two things on the part of the complainer: that their problems are somehow worthy of complaint, and that you have none of your own, because for most of the complainers, it's a distinctly one-way circuit of communication. They interpret my lack of complaint as some magical happenstance where I never have a bad day. In reality, I just know how to shut the fuck up and not spread misery to someone who might be having a worse day than me. Some times, though...

Someone is always having a worse day than you. That's pretty much a guaranteed fact. However, you've got to remember that even though someone's having a lot of trouble, it doesn't make the minor crap that's screwing up your life any easier to deal with. I don't want to feel guilty about having a shitty day because there's been a natural disaster somewhere. I'm very thankful for everything I've got, but some times...

As you may have guessed, I've had a week. Nothing particularly major, just a sequence of minor events that went from being merely annoying, passed through oppressive, and eventually turned comical in its mundane grandeur. It started with being called for Jury Duty exactly one year after my last service -- the statutory minimum; various work and scheduling snafus; a car that died, forcing my wife to rent a car to drive herself to the hospital to get a z-pac for her bronchitis; a tow-truck fiasco; and it all ended with a speeding ticket for me in a rental car on the way home Friday night. So, I'm not complaining about the snow. I'm on a roll.