There’s plenty to complain about with breaking news – Ukraine, climate change, and depending on your point of view, the recent raft of Supreme Court decisions.
But it’s occurred to me that in all this opportunity for big picture complaining, we have lost something else: the opportunity for good old personal gripes.
How, you might ask, with the world in shambles, dare I complain about my microwave going out? Button up, we tell ourselves, and carry on! Look on the bright side!
Having buttoned up for a while, I was thrilled to stumble on an article that discouraged ruminating over misery but encouraged saying, at least to ourselves, This sucks. I’m unhappy with what’s going on. I was also surprised at how much practice it took to break the no-griping habit.
With that, I feel inspired to offer my own laundry list of personal gripes from a week-long period last month. In the name of mental health.
The kick-off was an apologetic last-minute phone call from friends who’d invited me for a week of lectures and concerts at Chautauqua, that one had just tested positive for Covid. On the bright side, I told myself, I didn’t get exposed. And it was a nice day for driving back home from New York. And Isabel Wilkerson, the headliner, had canceled anyway. I felt embarrassed to say It sucked. I was unhappy with what was going on.
I turned the car around and drove just in time to get a text message from a neighbor: “We just spotted a skunk running into the bushes under your bedroom window.” This launched a round of sightings – in the neighbor’s prairie grass, darting across my yard into the shrubs, sauntering along my driveway.
‘At least I’m not obsessing about Chautauqua,” I said. But actually, it sucked; I was unhappy about what was going on. Between us, the neighbor and I went through two jugs of granules, a pound or so of cayenne pepper and two bags of moth balls. Reading that making noise would keep the skunk from being surprised, we clapped our hands every time we exited our houses, and finally I cranked up a radio on the back porch to an eager evangelist who urged the skunk – and all my neighbors – to Repent! It was the last I saw of the skunk.
Meanwhile, in the midst of the skunk-repelling, I went to heat up lunch in the microwave and was surprised to see that while the dish twirled and the light was on, there was no heat. Apparently it had burned itself out cooking a sweet potato. According to YouTube, I might need to replace the magnetron, which costs as much as a new microwave.
“Good thing I didn’t burn down the house,” said my bright side, which wanted to say This sucks. I’m unhappy with what’s going on.
By now, ready for a glass of wine, I spent 15 minutes trying to pull open the kitchen utility drawer and get a corkscrew, but it was jammed shut by the toaster oven tray and no amount of jostling up and down and could seem to shake it loose. To my credit, I could see no bright side to never again having access to my rolling pin, cake tester, meat thermometer or steamer basket. This sucks! I said, along with a couple other things. It was getting easier.
By nightfall, I was so busy hoping that another predicted “severe thunderstorm” would not wash away all the skunk repellant that it never occurred to me that it would instead strike two trees the next street over and knock down the power lines servicing our street for a day or two.
This sucks, I muttered, and didn’t even say I was relieved it wasn’t my tree.
Happily, the power was restored before I was covered with bug bites from attending a barbecue, developed a fever, had to run to urgent care and also the chiropractor because of low back pain, which she attributed to stress.
“All that happened?” she said. “That sucks.”
“Yes, it does,” I said.
I think I’m getting the hang of it.
Copyright 2022 Pat Snyder
