another time of complaint. complaints are useless. there is nothing constructive about repetitive airing of dissatisfaction. some say it’s therapeutic, but some haven’t seen the looks on the faces of my friends.
i read a book once by a 70’s teeny bopper actress, who gave advice about complaints: for 5 days after something bad has happened, you are allowed to mope, get sad-eyed, relate endless details to your friends, and get it out of your system. on the 6th day you have to put on your best clothes, wear a bright smile, and show everyone (including yourself) that you’re over it. the advice seemed hokey when i was in 8th grade, but strange philosophies become not so foreign as you get older.
i talked to a friend yesterday who said that recent events in her life felt fake, felt like something out of a sitcom. perhaps we just feel this way because mainstream society has made love and coming-of-age stories into cliches. this advice from the far reaches of two decades past is the same bland flavor of information gleaned from ye olde seventeen magazine. however, it’s the principle of the honor of local heroes: even if the hero’s accomplishments never seem special in the scope of the universe, your personal connection makes the hero dearer to you. the 70’s teeny bopper actress’ advice isn’t the definitive way given in the handbook of love, but since i’m in a situation now where it applies terribly to my emotions, it’s worth a try.
before coming to this conclusion, i was stuck in the rut of believing in the status quo. as friday nights are able to do, a weekend destroyed my sense of security. since then i’ve been frozen in time, waiting for and dreading resolution from the other side. i think i’ve already done enough damage; i believe i’m enough of a threat that i should stay still. i’m cowering in an emotional foxhole and hoping for the situation to improve. good thing i brought my pen with me.