Just be the truest reflection of your overly critical self. But that applies only if you’re a college student struggling to string a nutritious meal together. I personally consider it a good day if I find at least 1 out of 6 essential nutrients. If you’re an adult over the age of 30 (that includes my 26-year-old brother) I will assume that you have your life together and are reasonably equipped to know which side of the credit card to swipe.
If you ARE an adult reading this, chances are that you are in my mother or father’s workplace, since they tell me with unrestrained excitement every time their colleagues read my blog. So to the adults who have it together and know where the taxes go, congratulations, let me know if it truly does take a 100 years to get to where you are today.
If you DON’T know where the taxes go, come, have a seat right here next to me and take a leaf out of my Burn Book. This book of complaints is categorized, indexed, updated regularly, and more rigorously formatted than any of my 1200-word reports for class. Which is what I should be working on right now, instead of complaining about having to do it. But there you go, I’m proving my point with evidence to boot. Here are a few situations that I can complain about on demand and with unbridled passion.
- If I eat something mildly/wildly delicious: to start with, if I’m eating something delicious, there’s a 97% chance that it’s complete crap for my health and that it’s 97% cholesterol in solid – and semi-liquid if we’re talking quality cheese – form. Immediately after finishing this delicious item, I will proceed to complain about the fact that I never eat healthy and drown myself in self-pity while also burping contentedly.
- If I eat something that makes me scowl: hands down the easiest way to hear me peel your ears off in a series of piteous whines – like a puppy, but less cute and infinitely more assaulting on the senses.
Who works out? No, tell me, how do you work out when there are only 24 hours in a day? Take into account factors such as the short-term liberation from homework for four hours in the whole day, and the few blinks that can be considered as a complete REM sleep cycle.
Here is the weirdest conundrum I’ve been presented with: if there is close to zero free time in a day, there are generous grounds to complain. But if the stars align in such a way that they give me bounties of free time, I will instantly be on my guard. The ears perk up and the nostrils flare. There is definitely something sketchy with that situation. The pages of my calendar will be feverishly flipped, combed through for any signs of timely and notable achievement on my part. By the time I finish feeling paranoid about the situation, boom, it’s Monday and everything is punching me in the throat again.
TIME ITSELF AS A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT:
There needs to be more than 24 hours in a day. I need at least 6-12 bonus hours, plus overtime if the situation calls for it.
- If I get more than five hours of sleep in a day: “Wow, I sleep way too much. Look at all the people in the library, straggling out in their half-loose hair and bloodshot eyes at 4 a.m. That’s the kind of hard-working person I can only dream of being. Learn from them. Emulate them. If I don’t have bloodshot eyes by tomorrow, I will disown my whole identity.”
- If I get less than five hours of sleep: “Why is nobody filing this as human rights abuse? Why is nobody making me handcrafted coffee for my struggles? Why is my roommate sleeping at an Arctic-level temperature? Is she a polar bear?”
Concluding note: WALKING SPEEDS OF THE PEOPLE IN FRONT OF ME:
If you walk in front of me, and if you walk at 0.0000006 km/hr, I will be gently surprised if you don’t soon hear my inner voice yelling at whichever dense idiot gave you the the gift of two fully functioning feet.
If you walk like you’re about to sprint for the Olympics, please have at it. But if we’re both nearing the door, and you don’t hold it open for me, then I will immediately wonder with a smile on my face and murder in my eyes, “Who raised you? Were you unable to see me hobbling with my non-handcrafted coffee, barely vertical after two hours of sleep with a literal polar bear? Mannerless imbecile.”
(More deplorable situations on the way, will complain again soon)