Last weekend, I found myself in the middle of a pity party because I had to work seven days in a row. While I had a few breaks throughout the day, I still managed to work about 60-70 hours. I was objecting to this while I was taking out the trash and breaking down the packaging for our impending wedding shower. Now as I was tearing boxes apart (and jumping up and down on the bubble wrap) it hit me that my pity party was, in fact, bullshit.
I have a job. While the circumstances surrounding it (office environment, intensity of work, the nature of the work) may not always be fantastic, I have a really damn fine job. I’m lucky enough to have found someone I want to spend the rest of my life with AND people are sending us gifts to help us start a life together.
In short, I have no reason to complain about how difficult my life is.
I know it is human nature, and I know that my feelings of discord suggest other issues that need to be addressed. I am working on all of those problems (and my work stuff) as best I can. Whining about not getting “a weekend for myself” just doesn’t seem to cut it anymore.