Complaints and Complaining

I write about complaint; I complain about complaint. Dear Lord, I complain. And finally, hearing myself this one time today, I have suddenly realized how boring it is to myself to listen to me complain; I cannot imagine how numbing it must be for others to hear me. Well, I can imagine a bit because I keep decrying the complaint of others. And we all think that our complaints are interesting, and that is partly why we complain. Plus, our complaints help legitimate our definitions of the world. Plus, our complaints obviate our having to act: complaining is the only act in which I need to engage. C’est tout!’

I’m vowing to quit. C’est tout.

So, this week alone I finished two articles, continued reading through a book I only partly understand, and begun a wonderful novel, Friendly Fire, by A.B. Yehoshua, and didn’t piss off too many people.

Thank you, Michael.