Driving in to work this morning I asked Nick what I should blog about.
"You haven't ranted about winter in a long time."
I do hate winter, it's true. I hate being cold, I hate the thin, feeble light. The shortness of the days and the intrusive darkness of the nights both get me down. And rain. I hate rain.
In fact, perhaps, I should just say I hate inclement weather. There. That covers it.
I arrived at Nick's office last night soaking wet, freezing, and spouting profanities. And like "cocksucking rain" makes any sense anyway.
So I immediately wondered aloud if Nick thought I complained a lot. His answer? Well, I complain a lot more than him.
He was all, "So it's cold. So it's raining." He pointed up to the sky. "It's like complaining about the clouds. It's not going to change them. What's the point?"
All I could think of was, "It must feel awesome to be so fucking perfect."
Thinking about it, thought, it's true - I do complain a lot more than he does. Not whining, fix-this-for-me complaining. But I am likely to say "Fuck! It's so fucking cold!" every single cold day of the winter. Because fuck! It's cold!
But do I complain a lot? In the scheme of human complaining? Do I?
And is this a female-male difference? Are women more likely to voice what they think in the moment? Or is this a Lisa-Nick difference? I'm not sure.
He does, in fact, have a sunnier disposition than I do. Or maybe not sunnier, but he's a lot more even-keeled. My highs are happy! sunny! yippee! sparkly! rainbows! dancing! puppy squeezingly high. And my lows are dark, no daylight in sight, pit-of-despair-ish.
He maintains a pretty even level of happiness or contentment throughout the day, week, month. This is not to say he doesn't get mad - because man, he has a temper. Or sad. But down episodes are rare, and, except for the anger, never as extreme as mine.
I tend to think about it in water terms. He spends most of his time swimming steadily down a pleasant, fairly evenly flowing river. And I spend mine in the ocean. Riding the high waves, enjoying the sun sparkling on the rushing water, and then thrashing about sputtering, flailing and grasping when I get caught in the dark gritty grip of the undertow.
We are very different people.
But back to complaining. Is complaining in itself necessarily bad? I don't know that it is.
There's something pretty satisfying in remarking on something you dislike, or something that pisses you off or irritates you.
So you can't change the fucking cold or the cocksucking rain. Is it terrible to remark on it?