Complaining

I was recently complaining about the fact that I find myself complaining a lot. I was bitching about the small things that warp my pretty comfortable existence into something more interesting to talk about... such as a train being late (I don't travel well), weather being too hot/cold, having too many pillows on my bed, not having won the lottery yet and putting on a couple of pounds. All these beefs can be simply solved whether it be by putting on an extra coat, removing a few pillows or not eating all the brownies and the rest can be even more simply be put up with as, let's be fair, I'm one of the lucky ones. I can afford to take that train, I'm normally going somewhere fabulous and the person meeting me doesn't give too much of a toss about 15 minutes and I have that extra quid to gamble once a week.

This is not be harping on about how lucky we all are but simply readjusting my brain to the point that things aren't perfect and not everyone wants or would like to know how not perfect they are. I purposely avoid conversations with those people who when you ask "How are you" you are immediately regretful as their mouth opens and their troubles however acute become your acute problems too. I do often have a good moan about these people but in doing so I begrudgingly become one of them. 

So I hereby will try to not complain or complain about complaining as much, as I don't want you going off complaining about my complaining about complaining blog.

I'm going to head off now and try not to complain about how the word complain and all it's derivatives have lost all meaning.