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.
Eh…I say, you’re allowed to complain as long as you’re aware that you’re just blowing off steam, and have some perspective, which you clearly do. Bitch away!
Good thing you got your head around this, before I had to slap you.
Cry more, nub.