I’m fucking tired. Tired of working all the damn time. Tired of living existing in a half-finished house for over a year now. Tired of having such an overwhelming amount left to do on the damn house that on my rare days off, I flat out refuse to touch the fucking thing. Tired of stupid people that I am forced to interact with. Tired of the political bullshit. Tired of being tired.
But at least I don’t have a sick kid, a mutt that needs to be shot, a broken car, and a broken toilet. All in all, I guess I have it pretty good.
Grumpy Bastard 
Man, I didn’t realize how much I’ve been complaining lately. Sorry about that–I’ll try to do better.
No, no, no. I was the whiner, bit before clicking the “publish” button, I remembered your many recent tribulations. They provided some context to my much more trivial problems. Sorry if you took it any other way. Hell, if I never complained, I’d never post at all.
Thanks to my wonderful family, I cannot stand complaining. Therefore, I try to avoid it. They tend to play one-ups-man on who can complain the most about the worst things. I could tell someone I was sick and running a fever of 103, and I’d be told “That’s nothing. I’ve got chronic bronchitis, and arthritis, and I never feel good.”
And that was my mother.
I didn’t see it as complaining. Describing the shit sandwich that life has served you recently is all you did. If that is seen by someone else as complaining, they can go have a steaming cup of FuckOff.
Sorry about your family. Were I in your shoes, I probably would have been prison for murder for a long time by now. I admire your restraint.
Just goes to show you…no matter how bad it is, it ain’t that bad…
BTW, love the FFOT’s over there.
Exactly. I had my whine all laid out, and then remembered the shit on shit she’s been through the last few weeks. That’s when I started feeling guilty about feeling sorry for myself and my pitiful “troubles”.