Nothing bugs me more than a whiner. I want to run screaming for the hills when someone with seemingly nothing in the world to complain about comes into the shop and starts whining. So, what am I about to do? I’m going to whine. Feel free to take off running.
All winter long I have been suffering from the cold. Most of the time I look like the little kid in A Christmas Story who gets pushed in to a snowdrift and can’t get up because he is so encumbered with clothes. I layer sweaters on top of thermal shirts, and baggy jeans or full skirts over long johns. Ugg boots were made with me in mind. My son Natty teases me about my “summer sweaters,” as like so many other little old ladies, I am usually chilly.
Suddenly Wednesday we had our first warm day. Of course I came to work wearing layers of warm clothes. I walked to Mellie’s to buy some annuals and came back wet with perspiration. That night I was so worn out that I feel asleep on the couch before nine and woke up the next morning wet from sweat under my down comforter. Since Wednesday it has stayed balmy but instead of celebrating (Yay! Finally warm enough!), I am complaining.
Between the suddenly-warm temperature and the pollen blowing around and coating my car and making me sneeze, I am pooped. The idea of walking up to First Bank makes me tired. This morning I simply watered the plants, and then I needed to recover in the big leather chair for half an hour. Suddenly wearing a mask has made me irritable (more than before!) because it feels as if I am suffocating. This warm, sunny, beautiful weather is wearing me out! Damn it!
I am grouchy about stupid stuff. My friend Suzie Hughes loaned me a book by Anne Lamott, a writer I normally love. It is about surviving troubled times such as these, and her solution is simply loving everyone. Lamott has recently married, and I wonder how long it will last. Every time she mentions her husband Neal, she criticizes him. He’s a know-it-all. He gets on her nerves. Sometimes she wants to kill him. Not so great at loving everyone, is she? She writes about how they went to Berkeley to hear a friend perform, and the performances were so bad she had to leave the auditorium before she had a major meltdown.
I get you, Anne Lamott. The way to survive difficult times is by whining and complaining or even checking out completely. I’m on it!
