I spent about an hour and a half on the phone with my sister this morning. Thank the fates for my older sister cause it worked out in my favor; being the younger in the relationship gives me the benefit of her experiences. She called me specifically so I could bitch and moan at her. And with that opportunity, I forfeited 2/3 of my morning while the wee ones galloped off to glue multi-hued paper together, sign along to the Itsy Bitsy Spider and bash graying rainbow dough into someone else’s tabletop. But I feel better for it.
In fact, I have been whining for the last two weeks to the detriment of several of my closest friendships, I am sure. I am slowly recovering from my funk and working out the details. Shaping my ship so out with it I can be.
One needs to protest one’s life to one’s friends. It's the hallmark of every female relationship I have / have had. As I have poured my heart over the phone and to any hapless soul willing to make eye contact above my scowl the past week, I have worked out the trouble I feel in and figure my way out. So now I’m done feeling sorry for myself and am back to just getting through the day. Usually when I start feeling that weary depression seeping at the edges of my life, I think of the mothers in the Sudan. What those women go through every day to get to the end and how in comparison, I have very little to complain about. But I let down my guard a couple of weeks ago and let all that pity affect my attitude. I think I started to feel indignant when I mentioned what had me down to some folks and didn’t hear the response I wanted. I like my girlfriends to bob their heads along with my tirade and “amen, Sister” to my litany of complaints. But there were a few… someone who took the other side or offered the perspective I already know… who did not care to indulge me.
The catalyst for strife in relationship arguments usually transpires when one party gripes and the other commits the offense of actually trying to solve the problem. Men often make this mistake with the women in their lives. We do not want answers, we do not want your suggestions; we want the satisfaction of being in the most pitiful one-upmanship position. Dammit, when I have something to bitch about, I want you to listen and agree with me entirely. (Unless I am paying you $80 an hour, in which case suggestions are helpful and certainly welcomed.)
It does not appease me to hear how hard it must be for my poor husband to be gone 18 of the 30 days this month. I want you to stroke my poor soul and mummer soothing coos at me. I don’t want to hear how much of a sacrifice it is for HIM, you are to “tsk” and shake you head in my defense. I don’t care that I am lucky that he even has a job… oh wait. Yes I am. After reading about how Citibank laid off 10 percent of their employees over this morning’s coffee, I am glad my husband has a job. In fact, it was his job as he stayed out of town over the weekend, to fire many people in his employ - just before the holidays. So now that I have sung my blues, I can dry my eyes and look for that sharp silver edge in the clouds. I can think again about the mothers in Darfur and be thankful that my life is as easy as it is.
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