Yes, my job is giving me kanker sores.
Yes, my legs are extremely itchy where I just shaved them with a dull razor.
Yes, there is a funky smell in the stairwell outside my room.
Yes, I have lizard lips meaning that every few days or so they shed their top layer of skin, resulting in a painful blistering.
Yes, the estrogen level in my building has skyrocket with the arrival of my latest group - a group of 156 feminists, lesbians and children.
Yes, I have reason to complain.
Yet, I will not. Tired of being a cranky wench, I’ve decided to limit my chronic complaining for the duration of my summer. Bickering doesn’t solve anything. The only palpable result of my complaints has been an increased furrowing of the brows.
I can see the positives to this new stress in my life. For example, I now enjoy receiving junk mail.
Every email i get from “quive” prompting me to buy cheap viagra online! is *not* an email from a needy conference guest. Each time “Gifts n pranks” let’s me know about Santa Fart (with a wink and a nod up the chimney he blows!) I relish the fact that it is not a request from a conference sponsor who needs help finding fire and safety information.
This morning, in a rare moment of peace and tranquility, I decided to pop in MTV yoga. I was bending and stretching like a champ, when *gasp* the phone rang. Oy!
So there I am in yoga toe lock, tush towards heaven, head to the floor, and I have to figure out how to answer my phone. While toppling over, I reach for the receiver. A guest is locked out.
Instead of ranting and raving, I took the path less traveled - the path of noncomplaint. Lo and behold, letting her in was no big deal. I quickly went back to resuming my yoga practice, and before I knew it I was in the fetal position thinking zen thoughts. It’s fabulous.