Do you know what the title of this blog post means to a guy like me?
It means, I've got nothing.
Complaining is my life blood. It's what gets me out of the bed in the morning. It's what fills my awkward moments around the water cooler. It's fueled the majority of these less and less frequent blog posts.
That's because these days, I really have nothing to complain about.
I've started a new job that I actually like (and involuntarily lost 10 lbs since I started).
The wife hasn't had any chemical meltdowns of late.
And I don't have time to hate on any coffee shops at the moment (I'm actually writing this from an old favorite and I sort of wonder why I ever left - oh yeah).
Anyway, therein lies the problem. Complaining is my Yoko. Without complaining, I'm a fucking mute. I know, I know. I sound like a real joy to be around. But this, sadly is just how it is.
And then last night, after a particularly enjoyable company outing, while driving the boss back to his hotel, I found myself complaining about something. Something minor and forgettable actually. But complaining just enough to trigger the boss' reaction: "My goal is to see if you can go three days without complaining," admitting that he'd just gotten two for setting me up in a swank hotel.
Apparently, this man, who has only known me on and off for the last three months, deftly identified my entire M.O.
Does this mean I've got it back? Or maybe it never went away. Either way, I hope this renewed sense of general displeasure has some legs. I've been a little lost without it.