I ask myself again why I blog. It's not like anyone would be particularly interested in my life. Even I've lost interest in my own life. I feel stuck, frozen in time, unable to progress. In fact, I took a picture of myself today, a simple post in front of the lake as a summer memoir, and hated the picture. I looked young. I looked naïve.
Simply, I wish things were different than they are now. I'm a seventeen year-old in a fourteen year-olds body. But, alas, complaining never got anyone anywhere. If there's one thing I've learned this weekend, it's just that. If you're not willing to urge for a change, you have absolutely no right to complain. I hate complaining. I hate complaining about complainers.
My grandparents deserve a lot of respect. They've been to hell (and I don't mean the one under Obama) and back just so I'm able to enjoy half the luxuries I have now. But like the old saying goes, they do a darn good job sitting on the front porch barking at the neighbors. Not literally, but anything and everything that isn't exactly up to their standards, (which should be set low at the rate this world is falling,) will find fault in their gossip. They sit and talk about grumpy waitresses, the way our generation relies on computers, the school systems, the politics, the fuss about celebrities. It's non-stop. It makes you want to run into the forest and become a hermit for the rest of your life.
It's a lesson I was taught the hard way. Complaining is painful, especially for those who have to hear it. Yes, I could be complaining about complainers, but my hope is someone takes this as a suggestion. A little reminder that someone sees that life ain't perfect, and you've gotta get past it as soon as you can before it chews on your brain and spits it back out in your head. No one wants to be the old hag barking on the front porch.
No comments:
Post a Comment