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© Copyright 2000, Jim Loy
I received email asking me who the hell wants to hear me complain about my tragic life (See my Complaint Department). Tragic life? Sorry if I gave that impression. I have a great life. A few ups and downs, but I really enjoy my life. Besides, complaining is a hoot. It is really enjoyable. It has become part of my great life. And, all sorts of people seem to enjoy my complaints. A couple of people said that they hate Microsoft Windows, too. Quite a few people had complaints about Handicapped Industries. One person said that he wished he could complain as well as I do. He said that I was a master at complaining. Now I take this as a compliment. But I don't consider complaining to be a major part of my life. I find myself doing more and more complaining (as people and businesses get stupider and stupider). But I spend way more time reading books and playing checkers than complaining.
I used to swear under my breath. Some driver would cut me off, or be too slow. If my window was rolled up, I'd shout at him/her. If I was wearing mittens, I might even flip him/her the bird. Now I try to remember the good stuff and write it down. It's therapeutic. I keep fewer frustrations bottled up. I express myself, eventually.
Recently, I was walking down the street, and I noticed that I was talking to myself: "Oh why did I do that? Am I stupid or something? Probably stupid. You hear that, you stupid subconscious? You and I are probably stupid. Besides, I'm talking to myself. So you and I are probably crazy too..." Then I saw a man walking toward me; so I shut up. And this guy was talking to himself! He was swearing, mostly about someone's perverted sexual preferences, with occasional references to God and Jesus. And I was humbled. Who's a master complainer? Not me. And you know what? I don't want to be like him. I guess I'm just not that dedicated.