The moaning of life

And so Lent begins. Forty days of giving up or taking on something I wouldn’t normally do stretch ahead of me. I’m not that much into structured penance – I figure I do enough of it naturally. But rather than do something (as I tried to do last year), this year, I’ve decided to stop doing something.

moaningAnd no, I’m not giving up the drink or my occasional cigarette. I’m not giving up bread or sweets or ice cream. I’m not giving up travelling or reading or anything else I delight in. I’m giving up complaining (aka whinging, moaning, bitching).

And 19 hours and 21 minutes into the first day of my 40 days of abstinence, I’ve already failed three times. It’s hard. I hadn’t realised how often I complain. I’m quick enough to hear it in others but I had thought myself a little above it. Silly me. I’m just as bad if not worse than the worst offenders I know.

It’s little stuff.

How’s everything?
Mad. I’ve had three workshops this week and I’m knackered. Way too much people time. Feel like I’ve been dragged through a ditch backwards.

I’m being generous here and only counting that as one (as it was all said in the same breath) instead of the three or possible four it actually is.

FFS, how difficult is it to get someone do to their job? It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve been here and every time we have to ask for the same crap. And we’ve been on the schedule for weeks – it’s not like they’ve not had time.

That gets counted as one, too, as it’s directed at the same entity. Admittedly it felt good to get it out rather than keep it inside but as I caught myself in full flow, I had to wonder why I waste what little energy I have on venting.

How did that happen? I can’t believe I don’t have a free weekend till May. Where was my head? What was I thinking?

complaintsNo one to blame for that but myself – and my pathetic time management skills. But complaining about myself to myself? What purpose does that serve?

It’s going to be a long Lent – with lots of lessons – and maybe, by the time Palm Sunday arrives, I’ll be cured of all my complaints. One can only live in hope. Bear with me though – this whinge-free me won’t appear overnight. But if you hear me complain or whinge or moan or bitch, feel free to remind me of my mission. Once. You’ll be taking your life into your own hands if you remind me a second time. I know my limitations.