Complaining.

Sometimes I complain a lot. Or maybe you could call it venting. Or maybe I just want someone to say, "Man that sucks Jane." That's it. I don't really want to answer the question "Why?" about whatever I'm feeling. I don't want to hear about how your life may or may not be more difficult. I just want to complain.



So I try to be careful to who I complain (or vent) to. I don't like people knowing that I am an ornery person at times so it takes a special person to complain to. (Except I'm telling all four of you that read my blog regularly. The vain person in me would like to think its more but its probably not. And I'm okay with that.)



I guess the point is, when you say something that I don't like to hear after I complain to you, then I find myself avoiding you when I need to vent.



Anyway, the other day, I found myself discussing how crappy my schedule was lately because I have less free time then I had originally thought for this last wonderful month of summer of being an undergrad student. I was "venting" to my friend Leary (his last name) and he just looked at me and said "You picked your major Jane." And I immediately knew I would not be

"discussing" things with him anymore.



But as I sit here on my couch, aching from standing at stupid high school football practice, dreading the start of tomorrow's practice, wishing someone would do some myofascial trigger point release on my neck (Nicole?), those words keep ringing in my head.



You picked your major.



So convicting. And so true.



And really, complaining does nobody any good.