This Lack You Speak Of


Complain. It’s something I won’t do. I mean I will, but I like to tell myself I won’t. Because I was raised that “do to others what you would want done to you.” And since I don’t want to hear complaints, am not genuine when concerned about your complaints or tight lipped at expressing my opinion of your complaint, I choose not to express mine in hopes that you will return the favor.

I am annoyed however at the ease in which people will pile their life’s problems on you. I get it; they don’t intend to heave truck loads of their sorrows onto you like pigeons picking at the sidewalk of your soul. They are simply doing what social media and channel 12 news told us to: Find the story that draws the most sympathy and then vomit it upon all who will listen. I’m no saint to silence. My coworker Scott will tell ya that “Did you know. . .” are permanent fixtures of my vocabulary. But even then, I relay my knowledge as world news! Those things he must know or be left confused and lonely at dinner conversations.

The complainers however (what I am choosing to most affectionately call them) are not relaying world news or information pertinent to human existence. They are just dishing their life woes as if this is the confessional green room and they are securing a spot for season three. I am not your therapist.

I am however a friend. A darn good one at that. I won’t miss birthdays and I’m clever with gift giving. No generic cologne sets here. I remember your allergies and never ignore your calls even if it is the fifth one in an hour (okay I take that back, I will ignore you if you’re just doing the most). I know how to act in front of your parents and safely observe relationship boundaries. But I won’t hear you complain. If I can’t fix it, I’ll find a way to help you fix it. If you’re not really looking for fixing, if you just need an ear, if you need me to say you’re right than you ought to hire somebody else cause I’m not with it. I have quite a bit going on in my own life right now. Yours is going to have to. . . Well for lack of better words. . . . Have to wait. Stop complaining please. To the grocer, the mail man, the telemarketer, and definitely not me, your dear sweet friend. If you’re wasting time complaining, you’re wasting time resolving.

I suppose I approve of what I’ve written -Paisley

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